An American Wizard in Hogwarts
by anonymus31
Summary: Nostradamus foresaw a battle between Darkness and Twilight, but it was largely ignored by wizards, and completely ignored by muggles. So what does it have to do with Harry? HPHG later on, rated T for language, possibly violence later.
1. Prophesies and Plans

Summary: The Potter's, in a fit of paranoid brilliance decide to move to America upon learning that Voldemort is after them. But will they be safe from destiny? And how does Nostradamus fit into all of this? Read on to find out.

A/N: Please Review, it's my first attempt, and I need all the constructive criticism I can get. Please no flames, I'll ignore them anyway, but I'd rather not waste my time sorting them from the genuine reviews.

Disclaimer: I am an overweight American Man living with his parents. If the sounds like an accurate description of J. K. Rowling to you, send me your name and address and I'll send over some nice men in white suits to keep you company.

**Chapter 1: Prophesies and Plans.**

July 20, 1980

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and was a stunning sight in summer. It was a massive castle, the core of which traced its roots to the so-called Dark Ages, though no one had been able to find these ancient chambers in almost three centuries. It was believed that the new castle had transferred the original to an extra-planar realm to preserve them for some reason or another. The new castle had been built early in the Restoration Period. It would have been an incredible tourist trap, were it not for the fact that no one outside of a secret society--bound not by oath, creed, bloodlines, or nationality, but by the ability to control magic--knew of it's existence.

If one were to glance through the window of the shortest of the towers on this day, one would see a tall man, pacing a cluttered office. The man was tall, skinny, and dressed in what appeared to be a purple bathrobe. His beard was long enough to tuck into the belt of said robe, and his nose appeared to have been broken sometime in the distant past. The office was filled with fantastic things, most of them inorganic objects, but over by the door a large, majestic, flame-colored bird the size of a swan sat on a perch.

The man was named Albus Dumbledore, and he was worried. Earlier that month, he had witnessed a prophecy, one with very troubling implications. It wasn't the prophecy itself that had the troubling implications. Rather, it was the person who had been caught eavesdropping in the middle of it: Severus Snape, suspected Death Eater, and, as it turned out, nemesis of James Potter, the father of one of the possible subjects of the prophecy.

It had taken two weeks to narrow down the list of possible subjects, but at this point it was down to three families, but that could change as the child had to be born at the end of July, not the beginning of August. He hoped that only one of the three would be born in July, thereby allowing him to focus all of his efforts on just one child.

Two days ago he had spoken with all three sets of parents-to-be, with two of them accepting his plan to hide out in houses protected by the Fidelius Charm. The Potters, however, had not. Lily asked for two days to come up with an alternate plan, after which they would return and present it to him. It would then be up to Dumbledore to decide which plan was the better one.

It had been two days and James and Lily would be arriving any minute now. Albus ceased his pacing of his study when the portrait next to his door announced that the gargoyle had admitted James and Lily. When he saw the Potters approach the door charmed to allow the Headmaster, and only the Headmaster, to see through it, he waited until James was just about to knock, and said, "Come in."

Suppressing a chuckle at the unnerved glance that passed between the two as they opened the door, he motioned for them to sit in a pair of comfortable chairs in front of his desk.

"Lily, James, let us skip the formalities and get straight to business," Dumbledore said as soon as they were seated. "What plans have you managed to come up with?"

Lily replied, in a slightly unsure voice, "We're going to move to America, purchase several properties in populous cities, and several more in rural areas. Many, but not all will be under the Fidelius. We will be taking Peter and Sirius with us, and they will each be Secret Keepers for several properties, to be chosen randomly, as will the property we choose to live at. We will inform you of our final decision as to where we will live, along with who the Secret Keeper is for that Property.

Albus thought for a moment. This was a brilliant plan. He had a feeling that there was more, but that same feeling told him that they wanted to keep this secret.

"Alright, I'll help you, on two conditions. First, your son, and any further children you have, attend Hogwarts."

"That was already our plan. We want them to learn from the best. Right, Lily?" replied James immediately. Lily just shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

The Headmaster looked relieved upon hearing what James's reply, though he seemed to ignore Lily's response, if indeed he noticed it at all. "Second, I would like you to satisfy my curiosity by telling me which one of your brilliant minds came up with the plan."

Lily spoke up, "I came up with the idea of moving to America, but the numerous houses were James's idea." She leaned across the table and whispered to the headmaster, "He's been spending way to much time with Mad Eye."

"Now, how will you be getting to America? Since you cannot use the Floo Network or portkeys at such an advanced stage of pregnancy without hurting the baby, and muggle airlines do not allow women over eight months pregnant to fly, I assume you are going to wait until after the boy is born, am I correct?"

"No, I've recently developed a potion that can delay childbirth by several hours, but does not work once labor begins, and builds up to toxic levels after only a few doses. That combined with a glamour charm, and a few well cast Notice-me-nots, should work to get us to the States." Lily responded

"Excellent."

Over the next three days, James, Sirius, Peter and Dumbledore bought nearly fifty houses, warding all of them, and putting all but ten under Fidelius. Upon returning to the U.K., The four men, plus Lily put the names of every Property they put under Fidelius in a hat and selected one at random.

The property they selected was just outside of a small village in the southeast corner of Missouri.

"Remind me which one that was again," requested James

"The one at the ass end of nowhere," Responded Sirius before Peter could respond.

"It's outside a small village named Kelso, and the nearest Wizarding neighborhood is 120 miles north in St. Louis," specified Peter, the Secret Keeper for the chosen property.

By the night of July 28, The Potters were settled in and beginning their new life in America

Some final thoughts: Right now I'm just winging it, but if I start having trouble I'll work on an outline. I plan on following the books, but that could change.


	2. The Second Amendment

Disclaimer: If you've read the drivel that makes up the first chapter and you still think I'm J. K. Rowling, the offer still stands for the nice men in white suits. I own nothing, except the Robertsons.

Chapter 2 Neighbors, a Baby, and the Second Amendment

July 29, 1980

The house standing less than a fourth of a mile from U.S. Interstate Highway 55, looked like it was once a stone walled barn, at least from the outside. Sirius looked out the Window and muttered, "Ass end of nowhere," causing Lily, who was standing nearby to smack him in the back of the head.

"What, I was just practicing my American!" exclaimed Sirius while rubbing the back of his head. They were waiting for James to get back from an errand that he would not explain to anyone else.

Meanwhile Sirius Peter and Lily were stowing the last few things away, in anticipation of the neighbors showing up. The neighbors were three generations of the same muggle family that lived near the end of the gravel road that bordered their property. Both Dumbledore and Moody has declared them trustworthy, and not knowing how long The Potters would be under Fidelius, decided that they should let these people in on the Secret.

At 11 a.m., James returned from his errand carrying a long, thin package. At the questioning glance the other three inhabitants had sent his way, he said, "I'll explain later."

At noon a group of five people knocked on the door. The group consisted of a frail looking old woman, a kindly looking middle-aged woman, a large, middle-aged man who looked formidable yet friendly, with a buzz cut, a plump woman in her early thirties with a kind face, and a tall, muscular man in his early thirties just beginning to get fat. All but the old woman had black hair. Lily opened the door smiling, "You must be the Robertsons. It's nice to meet you.

The youngest Robertson woman smiled and responded, "It's nice to meet you too Mrs..."

"Potter, Lily Potter. This is my husband, James, and his friends Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." Each nodded as he was indicated.

"I'm Jennifer Robertson, this is my husband Theon, his parents Norman and Eleanor, and Norman's mother Martha," said they nodded and offered words of greeting as they were introduced.

They stayed and talked for a few hours, mainly about the area, before heading home, up the dead-end gravel road. As Sirius looked around at the surrounding farmland, he muttered, yet again, "Ass end of nowhere."

July 30, 1980

While Sirius and Peter were out looking for there own place, James showed Lily what he bought while out the previous day.

"I cannot believe you brought one of those into our house!" exclaimed a surprised Lily, when James showed her the pump action 12-gauge shotgun he had purchased the previous day.

"I bought it for our protection. I have a bad feeling that we won't be safe, even after all the precautions we've taken. I want a surprise for Voldemort if he shows up. This is to be our secret. I've charmed it so that only you or I can see it or the ammo."

Lily looked like she was going to say something else, but stopped suddenly, with a pained look on her face. When she was finally able to say something, it was, "He's coming, we have to get to the hospital, _now_."

James scurried off to call the Jenny Robertson, who had graciously offered to take Lily to the hospital, as James did not have a driver's license yet.

For the next 15 hours or so, Sirius, Peter, and Jenny sat in the waiting room while Lily was in labor. Finally, at 2 a.m. it was over, and Harry James Potter was born. It was decided that Sirius was to be the godfather, and Jenny was to be the godmother.

For the next year life was normal, or as normal as you can be when living in constant fear of being found by the most evil being ever to roam the face of the Earth. It was not meant to last.

October 31, 1981

This Halloween morning, James was worried. He had just received word from Dumbledore that Voldemort was abroad. As soon as he heard that bit of troubling news, he started carrying his shotgun, which he had taken to calling "The Second Amendment," everywhere he went.

Lily, meanwhile, had been researching ancient, arcane rituals that might protect her son from the Killing Curse. After the better part of a year, she had found one, which would render a subject immune to all attacks for approximately five minutes, but it needed blood from both the one performing the ritual and from one who wishes harm. The blood of the caster was used to draw a rune somewhere on the subject's body, and the blood of the one who wishes harm must be applied to at least one rune in a circle of runes drawn around the subject. It could only be used by a mother to protect an infant, and it would only work if caster loved the subject with a selfless love.

As the day passed the pair got nervous. They decided to take refuge in the baby's room, huddled near the crib. James loaded the shotgun with buckshot. As the hours ticked by, they grew tenser, wondering how long they would be hiding there. Then suddenly there was an explosion downstairs. James took the safety of on the gun. Slowly, they could hear the footsteps of the intruder making it's way up the steps, until finally, he entered the room. At that point Lily drew the rune on Harry's forehead. James fired a wild shot into Voldemort's foot, but the buckshot did not penetrate very far. He slowed, but so determined was he to kill the boy, he barely even felt the pain that ripped through his left leg. As he neared the crib he stepped on the runes, sealing the ritual. Two more steps and he could see Harry. Before James could get a bead on him for a second shot, he fired off a quick Killing Curse, which to his horror simply vanished after hitting a golden bubble surrounding the baby.

"I gotcha this time ya evil bastard," shouted James as he fired round right between his eyes. As James let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding he could hear retching coming from behind him.

Thirty minutes later Sirius showed up, along with Dumbledore and several other members of the Order. Upon inspecting what remained of Voldemort, Dumbledore inquired, "What manner of curse did that much damage?"

At this James removed all the spells he'd placed on his shotgun, causing all except Lily to gasp. "I call it 'The Second Amendment'," said James.

Over the next few months, life went back to normal. James got a job with the American Auror Special Forces. Peter was caught and sentenced to life in Azkaban. Both Potters got in touch with their other neighbors, while remaining hidden from the press. And so the next 9-½ years passed, out in the "Ass end of nowhere."

A/N: I can't help but think that this one is nowhere near as good as the first, but I don't think I could do any better with this part. I promise to try and make the next chapter better. The next chapter skips ahead to early 1991. Or at least it was going to when I wrote this one. Please review. Constructive Criticism is welcomed; flames are not.

I would appreciate a beta, someone that can spot plotholes, help me to clear things up that make no sense, etc.


	3. Soul Reader

Disclaimer: The offer stands, you know, the one about the nice men in white suits.

A/N: For those not from America, I am referring to American football every time I use the word 'football.' For those not familiar with the sport, American Football uses a brown, vaguely lemon shaped ball. For a better description look it up on wikipedia.

October 1, 2008: I have made an edit to this chapter to fix a continuity error I introduced in later chapters.

**Chapter 3: Soul Reader**

July 4, 1985

Lily Potter glanced out the window at the children playing in the yard. There were three of them, throwing a football around. The first one she looked at was a wiry looking boy with unruly black hair, and the most shockingly green eyes she had ever seen, aside from those that looked back at her from the mirror every morning. She smiled thinking of all the comments both she and her son, Harry, had gotten about them whenever they went out. The most startling feature about the boy was a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. It was the remnant of the ritual that had saved his life, a ritual that, at the time seemed to have gone right--until the next morning that is. When Lily gave Harry his bath, something she had been too drained to do the previous evening, the blood had somehow cut the rune into his forehead. It was suggested that perhaps some of Voldemort's blood had gotten mixed in with the blood on the baby's forehead when James shot him in the head. Whatever the cause, it could not be healed by magic, instead they had had to let it heal on it's own, leaving a scar.

The next child she looked at was named Matthew Robertson. He was slightly shorter, and slightly stouter, though not fat. He had medium length reddish blonde hair and his eyes, pale blue with a hint of green, seemed to look right through you, when he made eye contact at all. He was her son's best friend and they had been nearly inseparable since they had first met almost five years ago. This fall was going to be difficult for the two of them, as Matt would be starting kindergarten and Harry had to wait another year, as he was born after July 1. She would be glad when Matt, who had some magical talent, had his first incident with accidental magic. Lily, James, and Sirius had been dodging questions about magic for over two years now. Even though Matt was never around when they used it, he still seemed to know about it.

The last child was a girl, rather tall for her age. Hermione was the oldest of the three, and had bushy brown hair down to the middle of her back. Her brown eyes, like those of her cousin Matt, were highly observant. Her mother, Candace Granger, was Jenny Robertson's only surviving family member. Hermione's father, Clive, was from England, and both parents were dentists. Lily had first met them the day after Harry was born; they had been the ones taking care of Matt while Jenny was with the Potters. Though Hermione and her family had moved to Britain a month ago, Clive and Candace had promised to come and visit every summer and Christmas. The main reason they were in town now was to sign papers to make the sale of their old house official. Coincidentally Hermione was magical as well, and had already had her first incident with accidental magic.

Three years ago, while James and Lily were babysitting for the Robertsons and the Grangers (They were going to a fancy restaurant to celebrate Theon getting his Ph.D.), Dumbledore had paid a visit. Upon seeing the kids he asked to speak to Lily in the next room. He then explained to her that both Matt and Hermione were magical, and asked Lily if she would explain magic to them and their parents after they had both had their first incident of accidental magic.

Two months ago she had gotten an owl from Dumbledore saying that Hermione had performed accidental magic for the first time.

"Lily?"

Shaking herself from her thoughts she looked back at her houseguests. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked sheepishly.

"I said when do think the boys will be back?" Replied Candace, referring to James, Sirius, Theon, and Clive

"Oh, knowing them, probably not until Sirius gets hungry," replied Lily, looking back down at the baby in her arms. Her daughter, Keira, was just a month and a half shy of her first birthday.

As she said that there was a scream and the screeching of tires from outside. Lily rushed outside, followed closely by Jenny, Candace, and Cynthia Black, Sirius's wife. The sight that greeted them was a confusing one. The Robertsons station wagon was stopped in the middle of the blacktop road in front of the house, Harry was laying on his back on top of Matt, Hermione appeared to have fainted, and when Lily caught James's eye, he mouthed _it's time_. Theon and Clive, however, were doing their best impressions of fish out of water.

Lily took charge of the situation. "Boys, let's go inside," she said to Matt and Harry. "Candace, can you bring your daughter while the guys bring their purchases inside?"

"No Problem," came the reply.

Once everyone was inside, Theon found his voice. "What just happened? One minute I'm driving, then all of a sudden Harry is running out in front of the car after a football and before I can even slam on the brakes he's flying backwards, towards my son, knocking him over." He looked questioningly at the other people who were in the car as if seeking confirmation that he that was what he had indeed seen.

Lily, who had gone to put Keira to bed and to retrieve her wand upon entering the house, entered the room and responded, "Magic. Both Matt and Hermione can use magic. _Enervate_." As she said this last bit a light shot out of her wand at Hermione who woke up immediately. The next few hours were spent explaining magic, and the exact circumstances that brought the Potters to the Robertsons and the Grangers. In fact, if Sirius and Harry hadn't gone out back to set off firecrackers and bottle rockets, they would have completely forgotten about the fireworks display. The Grangers and Robertsons agreed--the future was going to be very interesting indeed.

July 31, 1985

It was Harry's fifth birthday, and the Potters were eagerly anticipating the arrival of Albus Dumbledore. On the fifth, Lily got up early and sent off an owl informing Dumbledore of the previous day's conversation. Later that day she received a note stating that Dumbledore would be there on Harry's birthday, and that he would like to discuss something with the Robertsons.

The Robertsons were nervous. They had no idea what to expect. All they knew was that they would be meeting the headmaster of the school that the Potters had attended. They had an inkling of what he wanted from them, but they weren't sure. Despite their nervousness they showed up at the Potter's house at twelve o'clock sharp.

As they were ushered in, the adult Robertsons noticed someone they had never met before, though they could have sworn they'd seen him somewhere before. He was a tall, thin elderly man. He wore half moon spectacles on a long crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once, if not more times. His hair and beard extended all the way down to his waist. The overall effect was one of a kindly grandfather, though one with Alzheimer's as he was wearing what, to the Robertsons, looked like a long blue bathrobe with silver stars sewn onto it.

"Ah, you must be the Robertsons," said the man, standing to greet them. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Lily tells me she filled you in on the basics of your son's gift, did she not?"

"Yes, she did. I admit if I hadn't seen what happened on The Fourth myself, I wouldn't believe it," replied Theon, offering his hand, which Dumbledore took.

"I thought as much, which is why I told her to wait until your son had exhibited outward signs to tell you. Though he had already begun to show signs at the time," said the old wizard with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

"Really? I never noticed him do anything strange before," stated Jenny.

"I said that was his first outward sign," Dumbledore answered. "Have you ever notice how his eyes seem to gaze right through to your very soul, leaving it laid bare for him to peruse as he wishes? That is a very rare ability. Related to more common ability known as legilimency, the ability to read surface thoughts."

"Hang on, are you saying our son's a mind reader?" Interjected Theon, looking startled.

"No, not at all," stated Dumbledore "There are two reasons he is not a mind reader. The first is that this ability is not legilimency. The second is that neither legilimency nor this power is mind reading. Legilimency mainly picks up emotions, and is useful in detecting when someone lies to you.

"No," he continued, "Matt has a very rare gift. He can see someone's soul, allowing him to determine whether an individual is trustworthy or not, including whether or not said individual is lying. The reason he does not make eye contact very often is that it is, by all reports, a very uncomfortable sensation, to look at someone's soul, to see scars of emotional pain, to see the blackness that mars even the purest of souls.

"Another difference between legilimency and 'soul reading,' as it is sometimes called, is that soul reading cannot be learned, and never shows up in purebloods. All soul readers have been half-blood or less, and none have been leaders, as their inability to maintain eye contact limits their charisma. Because soul readers can see what evil does to the soul, they never go dark, though they usually end up in a gray area, where they do what is necessary to stop evil, without resorting to the tired old excuse of 'for the greater good.' In some accounts soul readers were able to read a Secret Keeper's soul and see the secret kept within," explained Dumbledore.

"Which brings me to why I am here. In the three years since I met young Matt, I have studied everything I could find on soul readers, and have already graced you with some of the fruits of that research. The rest is just names, dates, and facts that support some of these statements. I have not come here to tell you all about his ability, but I will later if you wish," He took a deep breath. "No, I came here to suggest that your son go to Hogwarts when he is old enough."

"Is that where Hermione's going?" Asked Matt, speaking for the first time since the conversation began.

"Yes, she will be attending Hogwarts," replied Dumbledore with a slight smile. "Coincidentally, she asked the same thing about you."

"In that case," Matt looked at his parents, "I would like to go to Hogwarts when the time comes."

His parents looked at each other. At her husband's almost imperceptible nod Jenny turned to Dumbledore and said, "Well, I guess we don't have any choice, since both his friends are going."

After hammering out the details, Dumbledore looked at Matt and said, "You should be getting your letter in about six years."

With that, he stood and left.

A/N: That seems like as good a place to stop as any. As I'm doing this without an outline I can't make predictions to far beyond what I've written. The character of Matt was originally going to be just a highly observant muggle, sort of an idiot savant, but when I wrote the part about the eyes I found myself inspired. Please review. Constructive criticism is welcome; flames are not.


	4. Confrontations

Disclaimer: Nice men, white coats, etc.

A/N: I'vedecided to make Luna a year older. I'll mention again that I have no clue as to where this is going; I just write what makes sense to me. Therefore, any author's note that makes predictions as to what developments will take place in future chapters should be taken with a pinch of salt.

**Chapter 4: Confrontations**

July 6,1991

It was late at night by the time the Gangers and Robertsons arrived at Number 8 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. This year, owing to the fact that Hermione and Matt would be starting at Hogwarts in the fall, Candace and Clive had invited the Robertsons to stay with them for the summer. Theon could only get three weeks off, which he scheduled for the last three weeks of August, as Jenny would have to be back home and recovered from jetlag by August 20, when classes started.

The next day, Matt was woken early by the sound of "One" by Metallica being blasted directly into his ear. His eyes snapped open. "As much as I like that song, that's not exactly the most pleasant way to wake up." He groaned as he sat up. "What time is it?"

"It's half past six," replied Hermione.

"That makes it just after midnight my time!" Matt moaned as he rolled over to go back to sleep.

"Oh no you don't!" his cousin shouted as she pulled him out of bed by his foot. The muscular eleven-year-old stayed limp until she threatened to give him a swirlie if he didn't wake up.

"I'm up, I'm up!" He cried as he struggled to stand; she was still holding his foot. Finally he was able to pull his foot out of her grasp. He got dressed in a tight black T-shirt (He called it a 'muscle shirt,' everyone else but his dad--who preferred to stay out of the argument--simply called it too tight.) and a pair of black jeans. He was slightly shorter than average for his age, though very stout. Hermione, because of this, had taken to occasionally referring to him as Gimli.

Hermione was tall and willowy. Like him, she preferred to dress in black, only grudgingly wearing other colors, usually the pale blue of faded denim. Often, during the school year she would be found in her room cranking thrash metal out of her stereo while reading something by Heinlein, Clarke, Aasimov, or R. A. Salvatore. Other times she would be out tormenting her nemesis from down the street Dudley Dursley. She would walk up to him and call him any number of names, but her favorite was the Pig in the Wig, which went all the way back to when she was four and he had grabbed her copy of _The Cat in the Hat. _This invariably infuriated him, and he would chase her around for about ten minutes, or until the shooting pains in his chest and arm showed up. Though lately even that wasn't any fun, because he was finally beginning to figure out that he would never be able to catch her.

After breakfast they decided to take a walk through the neighborhood. As this was Matt's first trip to England, they were going spend the next few weeks sightseeing, but his mother wanted to get over the jetlag first. As they walked they talked about the upcoming NFL World League, leading to a discussion of his father's career as a linebacker with the St. Louis (football) Cardinals. Back when he played, his father had a reputation for being a punishing tackler from the middle linebacker position, going to two Pro Bowls. Sadly the 'Cardiac Cards' never went very far, aside from the 1975 and 1976 seasons.

They went on like that for a few minutes until from behind them came a voice dripping with contempt. "Well if it isn't the little freak. And she's got a boyfriend too!" they turned around, Matt couldn't see who had spoken at first, until what he had initially taken to be a decorative tree moved, revealing Dudley Dursley walking towards them. Dudley was dressed in a camouflage shirt and pants. Matt knew immediately that he did not want to look this boy in the eyes.

Hermione calmly responded, "He's my cousin you fat lu--"

"I knew your mom was from America, but that's just sick!" drawled Dudley, interrupting Hermione.

At this Matt sprang into action. Before Hermione could come up with a comeback, he charged Dudley, kicking him in the balls. "Don't you dare insult my family ever again, lardass!" he whispered coldly in Dudley's face. Unfortunately when he did this he accidentally made eye contact. He saw pain. Not the physical pain, though that was made plenty evident by the tears at the corners of his eyes. No, he saw a deeper, emotional pain, combined with a longing. Matt looked away as quickly as possible, but that instant of eye contact would haunt both boys for a while. "If I hear that you have been insulting my family again, I will do far worse than that. That's a promise."

As the large boy just lay there, clutching his groin, trying to draw breath, Hermione turned to Matt and hissed, "Why the bloody hell did you _do that?_ The minute he gets home, he's going to tell his parents, and the Dursleys will be out for blood. He'll probably tell his dad that you attacked him unprovoked. Vernon Dursley does _not_ listen to reason."

"I don't know what happened. I've never reacted to bully before. Something about him, I don't know, made me think he needed a good thrashing to set him straight. I have a feeling we won't have to worry about him anymore. I can't explain it. You know how good I am at reading people, right?" She nodded. "Well, I can't really explain it, but I got the impression that no one had ever really stood up to him, he never had been put in his place. Then I made eye contact. I could see deep emotional pain in his soul, connected to a longing. After I broke eye contact, I could feel respect coming from him. Well, mainly it was fear, but underneath it was respect." He shivered, "I hope I never have to follow through on that promise. I made that promise to you, and I intend to keep it, if necessary."

Walked a little more, discussing music now. Matt spent a while trying to convince Hermione that Anthrax and Slayer were the best of the Big Four, while Hermione insisted that it was a toss up between Metallica and Megadeth.

"Have you even _listened_ to Rust in Peace? The solo on 'Hangar 18' is the worst I've ever heard! He's playing fast just to be playing fast!" Matt exclaimed to his cousin.

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but 'Peace Sells' is far better than anything Anthrax made," Hermione said.

Matt coughed, "Efilnikcufecin"

Hermione ignored him, "And as for Metallica, can you honestly tell me that you don't like them?" Hermione countered. Matt changed the subject.

By the time they returned to Number 8, Matt was regaling Hermione with a description of a CD he had received from Harry by a band called Pantera titled "Cowboys from Hell."

After lunch they settled in to play some Dungeons and Dragons, while listening to "Cowboys from Hell," along with "Seasons in the Abyss," by Slayer, "Peace Sells...But Who's Buying," by Megadeth, "Master of Puppets," by Metallica, and then trying to form a two person mosh pit while listening to "Among the Living," by Anthrax. Unfortunately this last endeavor failed when Mrs. Granger came upstairs complaining they were making to much noise.

The next several weeks were spent sightseeing. Matt liked the Tower of London and Big Ben in particular. Hermione tried to explain that Big Ben was just the bell, not the actual clock, but he zoned out at this.

July 31, 1991

Five days after the Hogwarts letters arrived, everyone at Number 8 was celebrating the arrival of Sirius, the Potters, and Mr. Robertson, who had been able to get and extra week off. Today they were going to Diagon Ally for school supplies, and that night they were going to celebrate Harry's birthday.

The trip to Diagon Alley was rather uneventful, but once they got there it was a different story. The barman at the Leaky Cauldron--who looked like a toothless walnut--recognized James and Lily immediately. Mr. Granger, Mr. Robertson, and Sirius were eventually able to fish the Potters out of the tangled throng of bodies and out the back door. By the time the crowd realized they were gone, the Potters had managed to blend in with the crowd in Diagon Alley.

After a stop at Gringotts--where instead of simply changing muggle money the Grangers and Robertsons decided to open vaults for their respective children while the Potters made a withdrawal for Harry--Jenny, Candace, and Lily decided to take care of books, James and Sirius decided to get the general supplies, and Theon took the kids for robes.

There was one other person in the shop, a boy with pale blonde hair and a pale pointed face. As Madame Malkin began fitting Harry, he turned to this boy and said, "Howdy, my name's Harry. So you're going to Hogwarts too, I see."

The boy was taken aback by Harry's accent and upfront manner, so he put on his most refined, disdainful appearance, and sneered, "Since when do Americans go to Hogwarts? Probably some ignorant mudblood aren't you?" Harry flinched at the sound of the word mudblood.

"No, my dad's from one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain, although my mother is muggleborn, if you really must know. They moved to the States shortly before I was born," replied Harry. Then added, "Thank God," muttering under his breath.

At this point the boy's gaze fell upon the other three people with Harry. "So what about them?" he asked with a sneer, nodding his head in their direction.

"My two best friends in the world, Matt Robertson and his cousin Hermione Granger, along with Matt's dad, Theon," responded Harry, indicating each one as he said their name, carefully avoiding the fact that Matt and Hermione were muggleborn, and that Theon was a muggle.

At this point Madame Malkin finished with the boy and sent him away. "Sorry about that guys, there are a lot of jerks like that in the Wizarding world. You just got to deal with them," Harry explained with a sigh.

Thirty minutes later the three friends and their parents, were crammed into Ollivanders, after Harry got his wand, along with an uncomfortable history lesson, Hermione stepped up. Ollivander got it right on the second one: larch with dragon heartstring.

Then it was Matt's turn. When Ollivander looked into Matt's eyes he sprang back, and without even taking any measurements ran to the backroom. He came back out a minute later carrying a box with him. He took the wand out of the case and handed it to Matt. It was a perfect match.

"Pecan and phoenix tail feather. When I made it I honestly had no idea why. I could never even understand why I ordered the wood to begin with. Every time I tried to scrap it, I couldn't. I've never made wand from pecan wood before. It's just too temperamental; makes elder look quite docile. Though when they do work they make for fairly powerful, versatile wands. It just takes a unique individual to wield such a unique wand," gushed Mr. Ollivander.

Leaving the shop, they made their way back to the Granger house for the party. It was after midnight before they could convince Harry to go to bed.

The next day the three were walking down Privet Drive when they walked past a tall, bony woman with a ridiculously long neck, trimming the hedge in front of her house. She narrowed her eyes when she looked at Harry, but said nothing. Later when the trio retuned to Number 8, they told the adults about what happened.

"Mom, Dad, earlier today we saw Mrs. Dursely," The Potters perked up at this, "and she looked at Harry almost like she knew him."

Before the Grangers could answer, Lily asked, "What's Mrs. Dursely's first name?"

Candace Granger responded, "Petunia, why?"

"I believe Mrs. Dursely might be my sister," answered Lily. "Tell me, does she have a comically long neck and a face like Mr. Ed?"

Harry grinned at this accurate description and nodded.

"That's her," she sighed. "It's probably best if you three tried to avoid her from now on."

The rest of the month passed relatively normally, with the older Potters and Mr. Robertson going sightseeing. Harry passed when given the option. Before they knew it, it was the first of September. The trip to Kings Cross was rather uneventful, but the traffic was very heavy, and they arrived at the barrier with only ten minutes to spare. A short, plump red haired woman was walking away from the barrier with her daughter when she noticed the Potters. She grabbed her daughter's hand tighter and gave James and Lily a friendly smile as she walked past.

Five minutes later they were all on the train looking for an empty compartment. The best they could find was one containing a girl with dirty blonde hair who was currently staring out the window.

"Mind if we join you?" asked Hermione. The girl turned around and immediately Matt got the feeling that the girl was a few pumpkins short of a pie, but in a good way. She was wearing a necklace made of corks, earrings that looked like neon orange radishes, and had her wand tucked behind her ear. But it was her eyes that startled him most. They were a silvery blue, open wide, giving her a permanently startled expression. This was not what startled him. When they made eye contact he saw pain, fairly fresh, along with a pure honesty that he had never seen before in others, and to a degree he had never seen, giving him the sense that this girl could tell the truth, even if she did not consciously know it. This was not what startled him. No, what startled him the most was that when he looked into her eyes, he--for the first time in his life--experienced the sensation of having his soul laid bare. The surprise caused him to drop his trunk on his foot. The epithet that followed made everyone in the compartment blush, along with several seventh years in the compartment across the hall.

"Sorry about that," he said to the girl's feet after calming down and putting his trunk up. "I just never expected to meet another soul reader. I was told they are very rare."

"I'm not a soul reader, at least I don't think I am," she said. "That's never happened to me before." Her voice had a dreamy quality to it, as if she was only half paying attention to the world. "My name's Luna Lovegood, by the way."

It was Harry that spoke for them, "I'm Harry Potter," Luna's eyes seemed to widen even more, "this is Hermione Granger," indicating Hermione, "and my eloquent friend here is Matt Robertson. I've never seen him so open with someone he just met. Then again, I've never heard a string of cuss words quite like that one. I didn't even know 'motherhunching' was a word." He shook his head before adding, "His ability gives him serious trust issues." They got settled in, Matt reading his copy of _Speaker for the Dead_, Hermione flipping through a rather large tome titled _Hogwarts, A History_, and Harry flipping through a copy of "Metal Hammer," a muggle music magazine he had come accross at a bookstore the previous week.

They were interrupted an hour later when the compartment door opened, followed by a drawling voice saying, "There's a rumor that James and Lily Potter were seen on the platform. This means The-Boy-Who-Lived must be on the train. Have any of you seen him?" Standing in the door was the boy from Madam Malkin's, only now he wasn't alone. He was flanked by two boys that Matt initially took for ogres, but he dismissed this thought, reminding themselves that ogres weren't that small, if these boys could even be called small.

Before anyone else could say anything, Luna piped up, "Yes, he's right there," she said as she pointed at Harry, whose face was still hidden behind the magazine, though he looked up when Luna pointed him out.

The boy turned to look at the indicated boy. "You!" he sneered in surprised disgust. "I would have thought Harry Potter of all people would have been brought up with a sense of proper Wizarding pride. Instead I find him hanging out with a pair of mudbloods and a nutter of a blood traitor. Are you sure you want to be seen hanging out with this filth?" as he finished his rant Matt and Hermione stood up forming a solid barrier between Harry and the boy. "Oh you're using the mudbloods as bodyguards are you? Bloody brave, that is. Looks like you'll be in Gryffindor for sure."

As he turned to leave Matt gripped his wrist in a viselike grip that came from a life as a farmhand. He locked gazes with the boy, noticing the same wounds on the boy's soul as were on the Dursely boy, only these would never heal. "Listen here you little queer, If I wanted to I could break every bone in your wrist right now, just for the way you insulted my friends and family, but I figured I'd give you a warning first," with that he twisted the boy's arm until a sickening pop was heard. "That should be a little easier to heal, but I doubt there are many on this train that know how to pop it back in. If you apologize to us, I'll pop it back, in, before any permanent damage is done. Oh, and tell your thugs to back off, because if the try to pull me off of you, there's a good chance your arm could get ripped off entirely. Your choice"

The large boys, which Matt had decided to think of as Stay-Puft and Michelin, looked at their 'master', who reluctantly nodded. "Now," he twisted the arm a little more, "the apology."

With a look of pure hatred, the boy looked at each one of them, saying, "I'm sorry I ever laid eyes on any of you." Without warning Matt popped the arm back into the socket, causing the boy to scream, which drowned out the Sickening pop of the ball going back into the socket.

"Whoops, looks I forgot to mention that it can hurt more going back in than coming out," Matt said, giving the little bastard a sadistic grin. "Too late now."

You haven't heard the last of me!" the boy cried. "Crabbe, Goyle, lets go," with that they left, the pale boy still wincing.

Matt turned around, noting the sickened look on Harry and Hermione's faces, and the look of mild curiosity on Luna's face. " I don't care what anybody says to us, just don't do anything like that in front of me, ever again," groaned Harry, while Hermione nodded fervently from his side.

After everyone sat back down Luna asked, "Where did you learn that?"

Matt shrugged, " My dad's a doctor in an Emergency Room. He taught me how to set a dislocated shoulder after a bull threw Harry's dad. I figured out how to do it in reverse after he taught me some basic anatomy."

After that they went into a discussion about the various houses. Luna told them she didn't really care, but hoped her housemates would be as nice as them. Harry figured it would probably be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor for him. Apparently his dad had almost been in Ravenclaw, and only his stubborn desire not to be the first Potter not to be in Gryffindor kept him out of it. His mother was almost in Ravenclaw as well.

They continued to talk and get to know each other until the train arrived at Hogsmeade. As they three exited the train with their new friend they each had a feeling that this would be an interesting year.

A/N: Another chapter down, and the quality seems to be going down. If it starts to get really bad, tell me. Now, as for the choices I've been making in developing Matt, he has learned in the years since he learned he was a wizard to figure out how to shut out the sensations, allowing him to get the feel for someone, and then use the sensations that the other person feels to emphasize the point. He'll probably be on par with Hermione in terms of intelligence, but with only average power. And as for the violent streak he's showing, he is the kind of person who bottles it all up, resulting in the occasional explosion of anger.

Constructive criticism is welcome, flames are not. If any part confuses you tell me, I'll try to fix it.


	5. The Sorting

Disclaimer: Nice men, white suits, yadda, yadda, yadda. You get the idea by now. I hope.

**Chapter 5: The Sorting**

The first thing they heard upon reaching the platform was a loud, booming voice, shouting, "Firs' years, over here." As they followed the voice to its source, they found the largest man they'd ever laid eyes on. When they were all gathered around him, the large man led them to the shore of a massive lake, where a fleet of boats was waiting.

"No more'n four to a boat," shouted the large man as a small round-faced boy tried to join Harry, Hermione, Matt, and Luna in the boat. When everyone was seated, the boats started forward.

Before too long, a massive castle came into view. "Tha', is Hogwarts. Ain't it a wonderful sigh'?" the large man asked. Before Harry could take it all in, he looked over at Hermione and noticed she was looking a little 'green behind the gills.' The next minute she was leaning over the side of the boat, and Harry just barely gathered her hair out of her face before retching and splashing sounds could be heard, distracting several nearby classmates, and causing the rest to focus on the castle, though they were no longer noticing any details.

When she finally sat upright thanking Harry for helping her, it was time to duck again, as they had reached an underground harbor. They got out of the boats and the large man led them up a long stone staircase, until they reached an enormous set of oak doors. The large man knocked on the doors three times, and the doors opened on the third knock, revealing a stern looking witch, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight, Harry was sure it served the same purpose as a facelift.

"Evenin' Professor McGonagall. Got another batch o' firs' years for yeh," the large man said to her.

"Thank you, that will be all for now, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall said, dismissing him. She turned to look at the assembled first years as they entered. "In a few minutes the sorting will begin, and you will be sorted into one of four houses. The houses are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin," this last she said with an almost imperceptible hint of a disgusted tone. "While at Hogwarts your house will be like your family. You will eat, sleep, and attend classes with your housemates. Successes will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup. I'm sure you will be a credit to whatever house you're in."

A short time later the doors to the Great Hall opened and the first years filed in. They stopped at the front where there was a dirty, frayed, and patched wizard's hat sitting on a three legged stool. All the teachers and older students seemed to be looking at it expectantly. Suddenly a rip near the brim opened and it began to sing. The song consisted of the story behind the hat and descriptions of all the houses. When it was done, there was a round of applause and then the sorting began.

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione nervously walked up to the stool and put on the hat. Despite her bushy hair, it still managed to fall over her eyes. She almost shrieked when she heard a voice that didn't belong to her saying in her head, "What do we have here? The most brilliant mind since Dumbledore himself, possibly even exceeding him. Extremely loyal, but only to a select few. And courage, lots of courage. Not particularly ambitious. So it comes down to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. You'd do equally well in either, so perhaps I should put you in...GRYFFINDOR!" The last word was shouted.

She made her way to the applauding house table and watched the rest of the sorting.

"Lovegood, Luna."

Luna calmly made her way to the stool and put on the hat, which hit her shoulders. She was nonplussed by the new voice in her mind. "Interesting. Quite intelligent, some degree of loyalty, not very cunning, plenty of courage. So it comes down to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Which one, which one?"

"I would prefer that I were put somewhere where the people are nice." she said to this new voice in her head.

"In that case I guess I'll put you in...GRYFFINDOR!" Luna made her way serenely to the Gryffindor table and sat next to Hermione. When she got there she realized the new voice was gone. She mentally shrugged and turned her head back to the ceremony in time to see Malfoy, still favoring his right arm, carefully sit at the Slytherin table with the assistance of his two goons.

"Potter, Harry."

The hall erupted in whispers, but he ignored them.

Harry sat on the stool and donned the hat. He flinched when he heard a voice say in his head, "Ah, a challenge. One of the smartest in this batch. Very cunning, and very brave. But where to put you?"

Hearing this, Harry thought furiously, _NOT SLYTHERIN_, to which the voice responded, "Are you sure. You have the potential for greatness, and Slytherin could help you achieve it." Harry continued with his internal mantra. "Okay, I get the point, that just leaves either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Since you are a Potter, I guess that means...GRYFFINDOR!" Harry breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to join His two friends already there.

He noticed Malfoy lean over to one of his cronies and mutter something that looked like 'I told you so'

"Robertson, Matt."

Keeping his gaze down, Matt made his way to the stool. He put on the hat, which rested on the bridge of his nose. He barely flinched when he heard the voice in his head. "Interesting, I haven't seen one of your kind in a long time. There's no way I'd be able to put you in Slytherin, you'd go insane within the week. You have an excellent mind, almost on par with your cousin. Hufflepuff would be a good fit for a hard worker such as you, but your trust issues would be a hindrance. You would also fit well in Gryffindor, which is good, because I feel that is the only good choice. So...GRYFFINDOR!"

He took off the hat and made his way to the Gryffindor table, still keeping his gaze down to avoid eye contact.

When at last Weasley, Ronald, and Zabini, Blaise were sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively, Dumbledore stood up. "I'm sure you're all hungry, but I have a few words to say before we eat. And here they are. Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak! And finally, tuck in!

As the Headmaster finished, food appeared in front of everyone. Every food one could ask for was present. Including, a pair of familiar foods that Hermione had previously said she'd never seen in Britain. As Harry piled some of each onto his plate, the tall redheaded boy, Ron Weasley asked, "What is that?"

Harry, swallowing his first bite of fish, responded, "The longer, narrower filets are fried catfish, and the shorter, wider ones are some sort of sunfish, my guess would be either bluegill, longer sunfish, redear sunfish, or crappie, I can't tell the difference after they've been filleted. Try some. It's really good. Matt and Hermione can vouch for that fact." At this the two indicated individuals both nodded, as they had their mouths full of the American fish.

Soon the conversation turned to parentage. "Me dad's a muggle, me mum's a witch. Nearly gave him a heart attack when she told him. What about everyone else?" It turned out that Ron was a pureblood, along with Neville Longbottom, the round-faced boy that tried to follow Harry and his friends into their boat. Everyone already knew that Harry was a half-blood, so they skipped him.

"What about you?" a tall black boy, Dean Thomas--a muggleborn--asked Matt.

"Both my parents are muggles. My mom is a school teacher, and my dad is a doctor, although he used to play football," responded Matt still not meeting anyone's eyes.

"What position did he play?" asked Dean, intrigued.

"He was one of the most feared Middle Linebackers of the '70s, particularly among teams not named the Steelers," replied Matt.

Dean looked puzzled for a moment before it dawned on him. "American Football, should have known. You Yanks just have no grasp on what makes for a good sport," he quipped in a condescending tone. He turned to look at Hermione. "What about you?"

"Like my cousin Gimli," Matt shot her a menacing glare, "I am also muggleborn, although I'm English, unlike Gimli or his knucklehead best friend," It was Harry's turn to shoot her the menacing glare.

Harry thought, _three...two...one..._ "Who's Gimli?" Luna, Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Dean asked as one.

Harry had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from laughing. Hermione, on the other hand immediately set to explaining. "Have any of you ever heard of J.R.R. Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_ books?" she asked.

She was met with five bewildered stares. "This could complicate matters," she muttered.

"Tolkien's books mainly focused on four races of people: humans, elves, dwarves, and hobbits. The dwarves were shorter than humans, but very stout and muscular. The one that was featured prominently in _The Lord of the Rings_ books was named Gimli."

Harry decided to take over at this point. "She decided that Matt fit Tolkien's description of a dwarf fairly well, so about three years ago she started calling him Gimli." He paused, wondering if perhaps he should let them figure the next part out themselves. Remembering his friend's wicked uppercut, he decided to save them the pain. "I feel I should warn you that no one else has ever gotten away with calling him that. If my mom hadn't known how to heal broken bones I would have been eating through a straw for several weeks after the last, and only, time I called him that." He noticed Hermione shivering and figured she must be remembering the sound his jaw made when it cracked.

They ate in silence for a while. When dessert appeared Seamus broke the silence. "Did you hear about the fight in the train today? Draco Malfoy said he was ambushed by a compartment full of seventh years. Told everyone who would listen that him, Crabbe, and Goyle hexed them so thoroughly they ran in all directions trying to escape. Says he nearly dislocated his shoulder when one of them knocked him over trying to escape." At this everyone in earshot chuckled, except for Matt, who, Harry noticed, was simply smirking.

"So, do we tell them?" Harry whispered in his ear.

"Suppose we should," was Matt muttered response. He spoke up, "That's not what happened. He came into our compartment looking to see if he could find Harry Potter, I assume to kiss his ass and befriend him. Unfortunately for him, they had already had a less than friendly confrontation in Diagon Ally on Harry's birthday. He didn't actually notice Harry, who was reading a copy of "Metal Hammer," until Luna pointed him out. He proceeded to call Hermione and me mudbloods--" At this point he was interrupted by several exclamations of surprise and disgust, most of them from people that weren't part of the conversation. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the little faggot called me and Hermione mudbloods, and called Luna a--and I quote--a 'nutter of a blood traitor.' I have no idea what the words meant, except for nutter, though I could tell they weren't nice. As he turned to leave I grabbed him by the wrist, and told him that I was tempted to crush his wrist, but figured that if it was probably better to deal an injury that wouldn't take so long to heal. So I twisted his arm until his shoulder popped out of his socket. I then gave him a choice. Either he could apologize and I would then set his shoulder back in place, or he could refuse, and take his chances on finding someone else on the train that could do it. He apologized, and I set his shoulder.

"Why did you have to go and fix his shoulder?" cried Ron, apparently upset that Malfoy had been spared more pain.

"Perhaps I should mention that it usually hurts more going in than coming out. I wanted to make sure he avoided me, and I the best way to do that, in my opinion, was to make sure he realized just how much pain I could make him feel," He paused. "I got the idea of a first strike victory from _Ender's Game_. It's a good book, I can lend it to you sometime," he shuddered. "I just hope I never have to look into his eyes ever again," this last sentence was mumbled

"What does that last bit, look into his eyes, mean?" asked Neville.

Harry watched as Matt looked up for the first time since the aftermath of the fight. He noticed Neville staring, transfixed at Matt's eyes. They both shuddered, though Harry suspected different reasons. When his friend broke eye contact, Harry noticed tears at the corner of Matt's eyes.

Neville, startled, asked, "How'd you do that? It felt as if you were looking at my soul."

"I was," came the response from the soul reader, who was once again looking at his plate. When the others realized that he wasn't going to say anything else they looked at Harry.

"First off I want you to promise to never say anything to anyone who doesn't already know, which, as far as I know is just the four of us," he said indicating himself, Matt, Hermione, and Luna, "and Professor Dumbledore." He waited for the others to make the necessary promises, Neville and Ron even offering to take a magical oath, which Matt declined.

"Matt here has a rare ability, one that shows up only in muggleborns for some reason, though there is one account of a half-blood who had the ability. He is a soul reader. He can look into your eyes and see your soul. He can see emotional scars, and he can see the blackness that mars everyone's soul. He instantly knows if he can trust someone or not. Even without looking people in the eyes he as the ability to read people very well, but that probably comes from years of playing youth football without looking the opposing players in the eye. That's American Football to you, Dean."

"Wish I could do that," muttered Dean.

Matt let out a bitter chuckle. "No, you probably don't. The way Professor Dumbledore explained it to us, most people born with this ability retreat within themselves rarely interacting with anyone, and in more extreme cases can succumb to catatonia. I'm one of the lucky ones. It helps to have two friends that I trust in complete confidence," he paused, giving Harry and Hermione a 'shit-eating grin,' before continuing. "If only they were here with me." Harry rolled his eyes and was sure Hermione was doing much worse. Sure enough...

"OW! Whadja hafta do that for?!" exclaimed Matt. Hermione had a satisfied smirk on her face.

Soon all the food disappeared and the Headmaster was standing, giving what must have been the usual start of term notices, except for a warning about the third floor corridor promising a painful death. That was the only thing that seemed out of place. Even the announcement of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher seemed commonplace.

They were led to their dormitories by a red-haired prefect, who had a rather pompous attitude. Harry took an instant dislike to this boy. Soon they were all settled in and Harry was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

A/N: Yet another chapter down. Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Put them in a review. I try to respond to any review that poses a question or has a suggestion.

And if you still think it's any good, please tell me. My ego needs stroking, and it just isn't the same when you do it yourself.

Yes, I know that last part sounded dirty. Get your head out of the gutter, ya pervert.


	6. Football, Flying, and Fluffy

Disclaimer: If you honestly think that anyone would pay for this drivel, you're a fool, but thanks anyway for the complement. Oh and, nice men, white suits, etc.

A/N: I just want to remind you that this is all freehand. No outline, and unfortunately, not even a copy of the first three books to help with the facts. Don't expect whatever quality there is to last. There is a scene of American Football in this chapter. I tried to keep it simple, but the score is probably gonna trip some people up. The only scoring possible in schoolyard rules is touchdowns, worth 7 points, with the option to "go for two," making them worth a total of 8 points, if successful; if unsuccessful the touchdown is only worth 6. Wikipedia has an excellent summary on scoring for professional AF. Please check that before asking me questions.

**Chapter 6: Football, Flying, and Fluffy**

Harry rather enjoyed his first day and a half of lessons, except for D.A.D.A.; he immediately developed a splitting headache during that class. He suspected it was due to the all the garlic. But he still was dreading Potions. He'd heard many horror stories about Professor Snape from his dad and Sirius, along with the many pranks they pulled on him, the result being that whenever Harry looked at him, he didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. He knew that Professor Snape was friends with his mother, but he'd never met him.

So it was with great trepidation that, after lunch on Tuesday, he made his way down to the dungeons. Harry sat at a table with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, right behind Matt and Luna, who were seated with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. He appeared, Harry noted, to be rather uncomfortable as the three girls happily chatted away.

Suddenly there was a loud double bang as the door slammed open against the wall than slammed shut with equal force. Professor Snape strode to the front of the suddenly silent room, and began to take roll when he got there. When he read Harry's name he looked up at him and commented, "Let's hope for the sake of all those in this room that you inherited more than just her eyes." He then continued on through the list and began the lesson.

After an eventful lesson, featuring no less than three cauldron explosions, Harry and his friends ascended the steps out of the dungeons. Matt, who had been responsible for two of the explosions--one due to his ham-fisted ministrations, the other caused by dropping an entire bottle of adder's venom into his second attempt when Neville's cauldron exploded right behind him--relaxed noticeably as the reached the entrance hall. Harry just hoped Snape wasn't too hard on his oldest friend in detention tonight.

When Matt returned from detention that night, he was rather pale and even less talkative than usual--quite an accomplishment, Hermione later remarked. For the rest of the night, every time someone mentioned his detention, he would collapse into a fit of dry heaves and shoot a glare that could peel paint over towards Neville, who, after three such glares, ran off to the dormitory as fast as he could--remembering the story of what happened to Malfoy on the train, no doubt. It was supper the next night before Harry was ably to convince Matt to go to the Great Hall and eat something.

Finally the first week ended. Over the course of the week, all of Gryffindor, and many students not in Gryffindor had learned just how odd Luna really was. For one, she was constantly talking about creatures that Harry was fairly certain weren't real. For another, whenever someone she was talking to experienced a brain-fart, she would run around the room chasing and swatting at what he could only assume was some imaginary insect. Whenever he or any of his friends asked her about this behavior, she would just say that it didn't matter any more as she had already taken care of it. Harry, along with most of Gryffindor, felt that she was good fun to be around, particularly once you learned to sort the wisdom from the bullshit. The few exceptions were people like the red-haired prefect, who turned out to be one of Ron's older brothers. She became a mascot, of sorts, as she was one of the few people unafraid to be herself and speak her mind, regardless of what was on it.

Saturday morning found the Harry out on the grounds, accompanied by his two best friends, along with nineteen other people. Wednesday they had garnered enough attention for a seven on seven game of American Football. They then spent Thursday and Friday after supper explaining as many of the rules to the game as they thought pertinent. Most of the interested parties were half-bloods and non-bigoted purebloods, though there were a few muggleborns that were curious as to what the Americans saw in the game. They picked teams, and played shirts vs. skins, with Matt being captain of shirts, Harry captain of the skins team. They went to a score of 30, and the game was over in under a half-hour. Final score: 35-6, Matt's team over Harry's. The consensus was that they'd need some more upper years before they could get a fair game. As such, no one involved in the game was quite ready to make a judgment/reassessment on the sport.

The next week passed in much the same way, though Matt didn't blow up any more potions. He did, however, replicate the formula for silly putty, though no one could figure out how. Fortunately, he was able to save it before Snape vanished it, and was able to successfully brew the potion on his second try.

On Friday the first years had flying lessons. Madame Hooch, the flying instructor/Quidditch Official, opened the lesson by telling everyone, "Flying is really quite simple. The trick is to throw yourself at the ground and miss," Harry, Hermione and Matt smirked at this. "Now I would like everyone to give this a try at the whistle," and with that she blew the whistle. Half of the muggleborns and a few of the more nervous half-bloods and purebloods threw themselves at the ground. None of them missed. "I'm impressed and disappointed. Impressed with the muggleborns that didn't take a swan dive. Disappointed with the halfbloods and purebloods that did."

"Can any of the muggleborns tell me why that method doesn't work? How about you, Miss Granger?"

"That method doesn't work because it is the fabrication of the deranged mind of one Douglas Noel Adams, from the book _Life, The Universe, and Everything._ While he is an excellent humorist and science fiction author, he is not an authority on magic," Hermione intoned.

"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor for that answer," praised Madame Hooch. "Also, every muggleborn who didn't throw themselves at the ground earns their house one point, and every pureblood and halfblood who did throw themselves at the ground loses their house a point."

All went fairly well at first (including Malfoy being told he'd been doing it wrong for years), until Neville kicked off early, causing him to fly over a hundred feet before falling off and landing with a disturbing crunch. After Madame Hooch left, taking Neville to the Hospital Wing, Malfoy found Neville's Remembrall on the ground. A confrontation soon followed, resulting in Harry being led back into the castle by Professor McGonagall.

Upon her return, Madame Hooch questioned the assembled first years about Harry's absence. Predictably, Malfoy and his cronies tried to make it seem as if Harry was the only one who left the ground. This might have worked, if they weren't outnumbered by those who thought he was just a spoiled brat. Malfoy received detention with Filch for that night, and the lesson resumed.

For Matt, it was an enjoyable lesson. Finally, something he excelled at in this school. Well, he was top in his year in History of Magic, but he didn't count that. Everything else he was mediocre at when it came to practical. But this, it was eerily easy. He wasn't _the_ best, but he was certainly near the top. Too bad this wasn't for a grade. He grinned as he looked down and saw his cousin struggling. He flew down to her and managed to give her a few pointers. While she still wasn't particularly great, she was at least now somewhat competent.

That evening Harry informed his closest friends that after McGonagall had taken him into the castle, she had introduced him to Oliver Wood, captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was the new Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were happy for him and readily agreed to keep his secret.

Saturday found Harry once again out on the grounds with a larger group of people ready to play a game of American Football. With some older students playing on the lines, the game was more even, this time taking almost an hour to reach a score of 33-28, though again in favor of Matt's team. Madame Hooch, who was an avid fan of sports in general, watched the game this time.

Harry spent much of his free time until his first Quidditch practice working on schoolwork. Just before practice, Hedwig, along with his parents' three owls, all named Bruce (Harry had never heard the story be hind this.) carefully flew in through an open window, a long package carried between them. They dropped the package and note in front of him and flew out the window. Harry decided to read the note, which was from his father, before opening the package.

_Harry,_

_When we got your letter your mom and I were ecstatic. Okay I was ecstatic, your mom was, and as you read this probably still is, worried. We were going to wait until Christmas to give you this, but I think you need this a bit sooner than that. So we decided to send Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, and New Bruce with your new Peregrine 42 broomstick. Hope you like it._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Harry excitedly unwrapped the package, revealing a sleek broomstick, with a highly detailed falcon's head carved into each side of the handle along with the number 42.

Ron, whom Harry had become good friends with lately, finished reading the abandoned note and asked, "Why are all your family's owls named Bruce?"

Harry shrugged. "First of all, they aren't all named Bruce, the one my dad called New Bruce is my owl, which I named Hedwig. He refuses to call her that for some reason. Second, I've never actually asked why; I just figured hanging around with Sirius has him well on his way to the loony bin. I swear I once heard him outside yelling, serenading my mom window in a retard voice and smashing rocks or something against his head as he sang. And lastly, how is that the only thing in that note that gets a reaction out of you?"

"Well, sure you've got a broom, but it can't be very good. I've never heard of the Peregrine series. What makes it so special?" Ron replied.

"The Peregrine series is the gold standard in America. It puts the Nimbus to shame. The reason you've never heard of it is that it just isn't sold outside of America. Don't know why, though," replied Harry, shrugging. "Supposedly the Nimbus is you Brits' answer to it, but that series has always lagged behind slightly."

Luckily, it tuned out Harry was the only one who recognized the series, though everyone was impressed at the capabilities of his broom. The most impressive feature was its dive rate. While it's handling, and speeds in climbing and in level flight were unbelievable, the dive speed was a trademark of the Peregrine series. The dive speed of the Peregrine 42 was very close to that of its namesake.

Two hours later, Harry, grinning ear to ear, walked through the portrait hole, only to find Matt, also grinning like an idiot, at least for him, anyway. It was creepy sometimes how he could be so happy yet look so morose, so the smile on his face meant something _really_ good must have happened to him. Unfortunately, he had sworn not to talk about whatever made him so happy.

Malfoy seemed to be surprised to see Harry at supper that night. "I'd have thought you'd be gone by now. What's the matter, can your parents not get a portkey out of that shithole you call a country?" He drawled, managing to sneer and smirk at the same time.

Harry put a hand on Matt's shoulder to signify that he would handle it himself. "First of all, I suggest you learn to pick your words more carefully around my friend here. Next time I won't stop him. In fact, I'm not entirely sure why I'm stopping him now."

He stood up and got in Malfoy's face. "Now listen here, asshole. Don't you ever insult America in the presence of either Matt or myself. Given Magical Britain's penchant for pureblood bigotry, I find that shithole comment rather rich, coming from you."

Malfoy, angrier than ever, then proceeded to challenge Harry to a wizards duel. Harry accepted, but as soon as Malfoy was out of sight, turned to his friends and said, "I'm not going," at this point Ron looked like he was about to object. "Gotta be a trick." Ron settled back down.

Harry paused, then grinned, "Perhaps the whole lot of them should move to Arkansas to be with their own kind."

Ron, puzzled, asked, "What's Arkansas? Is it some sort of colony of purebloods?"

Hermione caught on at this point. "Close, but not quite. It's a state in the U.S. with a reputation--deserved or not, I don't know--for inbreeding." At this point it became obvious that everyone in earshot had been listening in, because there was about five seconds of dead silence before everyone within a ten-foot radius started chuckling.

They were still enthusiastically bashing Malfoy and the rest of the 'blood purists' when they left the Great Hall. They were so caught up in that discussion Harry barely noticed Ms. Norris running off to get Filch. He immediately took stock of his surroundings.

"Uh, guys?" he asked nervously.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, as she, Matt, and Ron fixed Harry with worried, questioning stares.

"You wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?" asked Harry. He had a strong hunch, but he wanted to make sure before he said anything.

Hermione looked around. "I don't know, why?"

"Filch's cat just took off, looking like she was gonna tattle," answered Harry.

"There can be only one reason for that. We're out of bounds. And there is only one out of bounds area we could have reached so quickly," Harry paused when he heard Filch's voice, though he couldn't make out the words. "We gotta get out of here."

"No time," Matt said quickly. "We gotta hide."

They ran to the nearest door. When it turned out to be locked, Hermione quickly stepped forward and performed an unlocking charm. They piled in, and waited for Filch to move on. About the time Filch's voice disappeared, Harry heard Matt whisper, in what would have been a very soothing voice were it not cracking with fear, "Niiiice doggie." The other three snapped around, and upon noticing a giant three headed dog, hesitated for less than a second before rushing out of the room, and running all the way to the Fat Lady's corridor.

"What are they thinking, keeping a dog like that in a school?" exclaimed Ron. "If any dog needs exercise, it's that one!"

"I dunno. Hey Matt, remember last year when my dad trapped Sirius in his animagus form for the entire two month camping trip?" Harry paused, laughing. "And then refused to let him out of the 20 foot travel trailer we had rented?" Matt joined in on the laughter.

Ron looked puzzled at this, figuring there must be some joke he was missing. Noticing this Harry explained, "Sirius's animagus form is a Grim. Or at least that's what he says it's supposed to be," Ron gave a weak chuckle.

Hermione had not laughed. In fact, she looked positively livid. "I wouldn't be so glib about this if I were you. Obviously the more important question is _what was it guarding?_" Hermione whispered angrily, as they entered through the portrait hole.

Matt looked at his cousin. "At least I wasn't imagining things when I thought I saw the trapdoor," He paused, looking pensive. "Look, it's probably best if we don't worry about it. Let's just forget everything about that little misadventure, except that there is good reason to avoid that corridor. Got it?"

Hermione still looked livid...to the untrained eye. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed before you three get us all killed," she walked a few steps towards the girls staircase, before turning around and adding, "or worse, expelled." Harry struggled to keep a straight face after that, knowing that both she and Matt were doing the same. He almost made it, until he looked over at Ron, who only needed gills and he'd be able to do a credible largemouth bass. He lost it at that point.

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder, "Dude, she really had you! Shoulda seen the look on your face! Priceless! If only I had a camera," Harry wheezed between belly laughs.

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I just couldn't wring the ideas out of my head when I had free time, and that was hard to come by. I appreciate your patience, and want to warn you that further updates will be VERY erratic. I don't have an outline, and I don't think I could stick to one if I had one. The only documents I have on this story besides the chapters themselves are a set of character notes and a document containing ideas for further chapters.

You may have noticed some references to classic British Humor. For those who didn't, there were four. Two references to HHGttG (one credited in story) and two from Monty Python.


	7. Howlers and Halloween

Disclaimer: Nice men. White suits. Also the subliminal propaganda is not the responsibility of the author, only the demented minds looking for it. Only the supraliminal is the only propaganda the author is responsible for. That being said, **AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!!**

A/N: Some people read too much into things. I had a reviewer from the last chapter tell me I was including "USA Propaganda." Just because you hate America doesn't mean that every American author is slipping some sort of subliminal pro-U.S. message in every one of his or her works. I am proud of where I live. GET THE FUCK OVER IT!

As you might be able to tell, I'm in a bad mood. I've been stewing over that person's comment ever since I got up. Until such a time as someone can prove to me without a doubt that I somehow slipped American Propaganda into my story, I will not apologize for this author's note. It seems to me that your not allowed to be proud to be an American anymore. Fucking pisses me off. I have not made one disparaging comment towards another country in this story, and if I ever do, it should be taken for the joke that it is.

If I have offended you in the last few paragraphs, I apologize for that, but only to those who don't think I intentionally put propaganda into my story. But I've done my best not to be an arrogant, Dubya supporting douchebag. And to be even _indirectly_ accused of such is greatly insulting. I don't mean to insinuate that all Dubya supporters are D-bags, just that most that I've met were.

**Chapter 7: Howlers and Halloween**

September became October, and October was closing in on November. In mid-October, Harry received a letter from his parents announcing that his mom was pregnant. This would have been a very joyous occasion, if he hadn't received a howler in the middle of Transfiguration that sang--at a volume considered loud even for a howler--a peculiar song called "Every Sperm is Sacred," followed by his dad, Sirius, and Matt's dad reciting a scene that somehow involved a scratched record, hovercrafts filled with eels, and some guy named Sir William, who was apparently wearing women's underwear. Not only was it loud, but it was also somehow piped into every room in the castle. Even worse, instead of bursting into flames, it would follow him around, loudly reciting dirty limericks every time someone spoke to him. This lasted about a week, as none of the teachers could get rid of, or even silence it. Every guy in school was impressed by the sheer number "There Once Was a Man From Nantucket" limericks, as it took three days to get through those, even with guys doing everything they could to trip it as often as possible.

The last thing the Howler did before it disappeared was recite a story that, according to the first sentence, came from a penthouse forum, whatever that was. Sirius was reading it, and, though Harry wasn't sure, it sounded nauseatingly like it was his dad that had written it. Sure enough, when he got to the end, It was signed "Mr. J.P.--Missouri." Harry ran to the bathroom, where he proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach. When he returned to the common room, He noticed that every boy was staring at him, but the girls appeared to not have noticed the smut that had been echoing off the walls of the common room not twenty minutes previously. Unbeknownst to Harry, a similar scene was playing out in every common room.

Halloween morning came too early. Hermione had asked the Marauder's about the spells applied to the special Howler, and by the morning of All Hallows Eve had, with the help of Matt and Harry, figured out how to apply them to a curious device that Harry's parent's had sent her for her birthday. The device was designed to magically read muggle CDs and then output the music either directly into the user's mind or throughout the room. On Halloween, at 5:57, according to Harry's clock, Hermione activated the charms, along with the device itself, and blasted everyone's eardrums out with Jimi Hendrix's rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner," followed fifteen minutes later, just as everyone was getting back to sleep, by the album "Reign in Blood," by Slayer. It had been Matt and Harry's idea to start with the American national anthem, though Hermione decided to play Slayer on her own.

Later that day, in charms, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were learning how to make things fly. They were working in pairs, and each pair was given a feather to work with. Harry was working with Neville, Hermione was working with Matt, and Ron had been paired up with Luna. In the course of the lesson Harry and Hermione had managed to coach their respective partners into making the feather float--quite an accomplishment given that Matt and Neville were two of the worst in practical portions of lessons, despite the fact they were always near the top in the theoretical portions.

After the lesson Ron was complaining. Not about the lesson itself, however. No, he was complaining about his partner, Luna Lovegood. "She's mental! Bloody barking! No wonder the only thing her parents ever send her is a copy of that stupid rag, _The Quibbler_." Harry felt Matt get pushed into him, and saw a long tail of blond hair whip around the corner.

"I think she heard you," commented Harry.

Luna was absent from classes for the rest of the day. After the last class, Hermione heard a rumor from Parvati Patil about Luna barricading herself in a bathroom stall, and excused herself from the boys and went to find her. Neither girl had shown up by the time the feast started, which had Harry and Matt worried, though Ron didn't seem to notice. Harry had just finished with his chicken and dressing when Professor Quirrel rushed into the Great Hall, screaming something about a troll in the dungeons, and fainted.

As chaos reigned, Harry turned to Ron and Matt. "Hermione and Luna don't know about the troll. We've got to go find them," he told them. It didn't take long to guilt Ron into helping.

The three of them slipped away from the group as soon as they could. They eventually found the girls when a scream tore through the hallway they were in. "I think they know about the troll, now," said Matt with a note of grim resolve. When they entered the bathroom they saw an enormous mountain troll, looking up at a vaguely club shaped lump of wood that was floating over it's head. Beyond the troll they saw Luna with her wand out, pointing at the club, with Hermione cowering under a nearby sink, managing to look embarrassed and terrified at the same time. The boys' entrance broke Luna's concentration, causing the club to drop onto the troll's head, knocking it out.

"It's not dead, is it?" asked Hermione, cautiously, as they approached it.

"No, not yet," replied Matt, producing a wicked looking survival knife with a foot long blade, "but it will be shortly." With that he slashed the beast's throat out.

While Matt was washing the knife of in one of the intact sinks the professors reached the bathroom. Quirrell took one look at the troll and fainted again. McGonagall managed to fight the urge to vomit, unlike Ron and Luna, though the latter was merely dry heaving, as she had not eaten since lunch. "What happened here?" the Gryffindor head of house finally managed to say.

Luna, who hade finally composed herself, stared at the one wall that had neither mirrors nor blood spatter, and explained, "I was in the bathroom crying because Ronald made a mean comment about my parents," the Transfiguration professor narrowed her eyes at Ron--who was finally down to dry heaves--but said nothing. "Hermione had finally convinced me to go down to the feast when the troll entered the lavatory. I cast _wingardium leviosa_ on the club, but was distracted by the entrance of Harry, Matthew, and Ronald. The club landed on the troll's head, knocking it out." Luna seemed finished with her part of the story.

Harry picked up the explanation. "The three of us knew that the girls didn't know about the troll so we went off to find them, and--"

"Why didn't you go to a teacher?" asked a livid Professor McGonagall.

"They were all out of the hallway by the time I thought about it. When we reached this hallway," Harry indicated the corridor outside the doorway, "we heard a scream and rushed into the room just in time to see the club fall on the troll's head."

"Would someone care to explain how the troll's throat ended up on its current condition?" asked a tired McGonagall, rubbing a temple.

"That would be my doing, Professor," responded Matt.

"How?" asked McGonagall.

"My dad gave me this knife for my birthday this year," He showed the professors the knife. "It's been charmed by Harry's dad and godfather to never need sharpening and to be capable of cutting through almost anything, except refined metals, and minerals with a hardness rating of 8 or higher." He did not mention the fact that a strong compulsion charm prevented anyone from handling it unless he wanted them to.

"In that case, Mr. Weasley will lose twenty points for cruelly insulting a fellow house member," Ron seemed relieved that there wasn't detention as well. "Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood will each receive five points for sheer dumb luck. For bravery in the face of mortal danger, all for the purpose of helping your housemates, you three boys will receive ten points each. Finally, Mr. Robertson, you will receive fifteen points for ending the threat posed by the troll. You will also serve a detention for carrying a concealed blade. Matt adjusted the baldric he was wearing, and the sheath was now strapped across his chest, though the magic sheath made the blade look much smaller than it actually was. With the sheath now in front, the baldric no longer blended in with his all black shirts.

On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron apologized to Luna, who explained why she reacted so badly. Apparently, her mother had died in front of her on the twenty-ninth of August that year. She had actually been considering leaving and waiting a year before starting Hogwarts again. Harry, Hermione, and Matt decided that, from that moment onward, no one was gonna treat her the way Ron had and get away with it--at least not without getting pranked.

In mid November Harry had his first Quidditch match. Throughout most of the match Harry was careful not to show off the full capabilities of the Peregrine 42, until he spotted the snitch, hovering near the Slytherin goalposts. The Slytherin seeker had yet to notice it. He took off in a dive, but before he got very far his broom gave a violent jerk and he lost all control.

Matt and Hermione were watching from the stands. Well, Matt was watching, Hermione was trying her best not to be noticed, as she was sitting between a shirtless half gold half scarlet Matt, and Luna, who had colored her hair scarlet and painted her face gold. Additionally Luna was wearing a large hat topped with a life-sized lion's head. The three noticed Harry's predicament, and Hermione immediately set to searching the stands for the person jinxing the broom. The first likely suspect was Professor Snape. Matt reminded Hermione that Snape was friends with Lily Potter, and knew that he was dead thrice over if it could be proved that he was responsible for Harry's death. They searched more and found only one other, that being professor Quirrell. Matt immediately removed the signal mirror from his knife and flashed it at Quirrell. After a few seconds, Quirrell was apparently forced to look away.

Harry immediately set to looking for the snitch again, and this time found it right below him. He aimed the nose at the ground and took off after it. Diving at a rate of over two miles a minute and still accelerating, he had the snitch almost immediately. Unfortunately he immediately plowed into the ground and spent the next week in the hospital wing, though the first three days he was unconscious. Harry decided on the third day after waking up that he was going to be far more careful when diving from that day onward.

Thanksgiving dawned just like Halloween, except instead of "Reign in Blood" they played "Cowboys from Hell."

Though not happy that they wouldn't be allowed to return home to be with family to celebrate, Harry, Matt, and Hermione (her mom had raised her with some American customs, such as Thanksgiving and 4th of July, for instance), were determined to celebrate it none-the-less. They had even convinced Professor McGonagall to get some traditional Thanksgiving fare served at the Gryffindor table that night.

So it was that after the rude awakening, the two Americans and Hermione were to be found moshing with the three younger Weasleys. Some people joined in, but most just gave them nasty looks. Percy, or Prissy as Harry preferred to call him, tried to get them to stop, but gave up when he found himself with a mohawk wearing only a pink loincloth. Lavender made a comment on it clashing horribly with his hair as he disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

The day was rather amusing. Percy the Prefect had managed to fix the loincloth problem, but the mohawk was stuck. (He would go on to decide, just before the Christmas break to shave his head bald, but didn't figure out how to fix it until eleven years later.)

By this time many of the students were beginning to carry bladed weapons. Harry and Matt found it quite amusing seeing first years with claymores longer than they were tall strapped to their backs. They even noticed a Gryffindor seventh year practicing with a pair of kukris in the Common Room

That night at supper, the trio had a delicious 'Thanksgiving dinner,' but it only reminded the two Americans of what they missed about home.

They found there were some compensations, however. For one, it snowed more often at Hogwarts than it did in southeastern Missouri. For another, they would be going home for Christmas.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Leave a review.

Remember, I do not purposefully insert propaganda. Honestly, I had someone complain because I made Harry's broom from America so good. If anyone has similar complaints, here is my reasoning: First, the story takes place in 1991, when America was still riding high off of the technology boom during the late Cold War. Let's say that the Peregrine series is a military broom, and any on the civilian market are surplus. As it's military first, civilian second, it is not legal in professional Quidditch. Another answer for the reason why it's an American broom that is better is this: Why not? Somebody has to make the best, and I think at this point in the timeline the U.S. would be in the best position to do it, due to the aforementioned technology boom.

As for the comparisons, remember: no one on the Quidditch team has ever ridden a Nimbus 2000, and can't it be the Nimbus 1999 the Peregrine 42 puts to shame?

Remember, I will answer any questions expressed in reviews, but any sleights against my beloved homeland will be met with more rants, and no one wants that, do they?


	8. Christmas in The Sticks

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I should probably be paying you to read this drivel.

A/N: Remember this is told from the POV of American. That means American English. Suspenders refer to the Elastic straps that go over a man's shoulder to hold up his trousers. The Bladed weapons may or may not be used in the future.

**Chapter 8: Christmas in The Sticks**

December 21, 1991

Harry, Hermione, and Matt exited platform 9 3/4 to find the Grangers waiting for them. The Grangers would be taking them to Heathrow Airport, and from there they would all fly to Lambert Airport in St. Louis. After seeing that they would be flying Trans World Airlines, Hermione looked at her trunk and chuckled something about a "powerful traveling rune."

They were met by Sirius, who was wearing a red flannel shirt, green trousers, steel-toed boots, brown suspenders, and a tan, fur lined cap with earflaps, loudly singing a song about lumberjacks. Harry tuned it out, trying to ignore the stares sent their way when the song's lyrics started talking about cross dressing.

They met Mr. Robertson outside, where he was waiting in a 15-passenger van. For most of the two and a half hour trip Sirius kept playing "Nanuk of the North," singing loudly along with the chorus that went "Watch out where the Huskies go/And Don't you Eat That Yellow Snow."

As they passed Perryville, Sirius spoke up. "You may be wondering what has me so giddy."

"You, giddy? Never!" replied Hermione dryly.

"Well, I can't tell you exactly what, but James and I have a surprise for you," boasted Sirius.

"If it's anything like the last story the howler told, I don't want it," replied Harry quickly in mock alarm.

"Honestly, 'Little Johnny' Jokes aren't that bad. That last one was actually very good," interjected Hermione, clueless for once in her life.

Matt looked at his cousin. "Hermione, the girls, and I assume the teachers as well, didn't hear the last story. Consider yourself lucky," he shuddered. "No eleven year old should have to hear that kinda thing."

Changing the subject before Hermione could ask what they were talking about, Harry went on to explain about the sudden tendency for students to be carrying bladed weapons.

Sirius seemed to think on this before moving on to other subjects.

--

When they arrived, they were met by James, Lily, and Keira Potter, along with Jenny Robertson who hugged her son and niece so tightly that the casual observer would have assumed that she was trying to merge the three of them into one being.

They wouldn't have been far off the mark.

"How's Mona doing?" Harry asked, referring to a black snake he had befriended three years previously, which lived in their shed.

James replied, "She's thriving, as always. Last time I saw her she was huge, must be near six feet long by now."

Harry next turned to look at his seven-year-old sister. "How've you been doing, sis?"

Keira smiled and replied, "Great, I wish I could have gone to London with you, but staying with Matt's gramma and grampa was fun anyway."

When they entered the house, they were ushered into the living room, where James had an important question to ask them. "What would you say if I were to tell you that Sirius and I were considering teaching you how to become animagi this summer?"

Matt and Harry looked at each other for a split second before exchanging a high-five and shouting "Awesome!" Hermione, meanwhile, had a pensive look on her face.

"Isn't that really dangerous if you haven't received at least two years of Transfiguration training?" Hermione asked, always the wet blanket.

Sirius looked at her as if she'd proclaimed her undying love to his mother. Finally he found his voice. "You'll be under the supervision of two highly accomplished animagi. Plus James here is the only person ever to beat one of Dumbledore's N.E.W.T. records, which he did in transfiguration." With that James turned Sirius into an amalgamation only seen in a Daffy Duck cartoon. While his face was normal, Sirius now had four purple duck's feet instead of his arms and legs, a ring of giant flower petals surrounded his face, and he had a tail that resembled the flagpole of a hole on a golf course. His body was green. When he tried to tell James where he could go, all he could say was, "You're dethpbbicable!" in a very accurate Daffy Duck voice.

Everyone, including the women were rolling on the floor, clutching their sides, until Cynthia Black came in, and upon seeing the scene in front of her, gently kicked James. Right where the legs met. He quickly returned Sirius to his normal state.

Harry said, once everyone calmed down, "We've got to get a picture of that and show it to Luna. I wonder what she'd make of it." His two oldest friends smirked at this thought.

"Tomorrow, we'll see what form you will be able to achieve," James informed the kids. They stayed around for a few hours, discussing the previous term at Hogwarts, before the Grangers and Robertsons left.

--

The next day, Hermione woke up to a deafening blast from an air horn. Right in her ear. It was so close she could feel the air blowing her hair around as it rushed out. Without opening her eyes, she took a swing at where she thought he would be. She missed, causing him to laugh and say, "Turnabout is fair play."

"Was I even close to hitting you?" she asked, still not opening her eyes.

"Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, TNT, and atomic warfare," he admonished.

It was raining that day; a cold, bitter rain, one that promised to turn into sleet by noon and snow by nightfall. After breakfast they slowly trudged up to the Potter's house. The south wind was bitter cold, but they were bundled up well.

When they finally reached the warm sanctuary of the Potter house, they found Sirius, James, and Harry already waiting for them. Sirius explained the process to them.

"This potion will put you into a state very similar to a Native American vision quest, where you will find your animagus forms. Your form will be the first animal you see. We would prefer it if you didn't all take it at the same time. Hermione, being the oldest will go first."

He handed her a goblet filled with some smoking liquid. She quickly downed it. Hermione felt the sensation of blacking out. When she woke up, she was in a forest clearing on a mountainside. It was eerily silent.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a screech. A large, majestic looking bird landed in front of her. It was over three feet in length from the tip of its yellow beak to the ends of its white tail feathers. The bird's wings were farther across than a man is tall. It had piercing yellow eyes and its talons matched its beak in color. It's head and tail were a pure white, while the rest of it was brown. It was a bald eagle. While impressive looking, there was no way that it would go unnoticed back home.

She again passed out, only to wake up in the Potter's living room. Fighting disorientation, she turned to James and said, "It was a bald eagle."

"Hmm, that would make a nickname difficult, wouldn't it James," said Sirius thoughtfully.

"Matt, you're next," said James, handing Matt a goblet just like the one he handed Hermione.

Matt drank it in one gulp. When he 'woke' he was standing in a dense evergreen forest. The silence was broken only by the wind through the trees. Matt reckoned that whatever the animal was it would show up soon enough.

The scream of the large cat was one that chilled him to the bone. He noticed it immediately. It was lying in the crook of a low hanging branch in a nearby tree. The tawny colored cat was nearly nine feet from nose to tail. It yawned and flexed, revealing teeth over an inch long and claws that could rip the throat out of just about anything. It was a cougar.

He woke for real this time. He grinned and looked at James and said, "Mountain Lion."

"That could be another difficult nickname," James said.

"Harry, it's finally your turn," James said as he handed his son a goblet of the smoking liquid. Harry drank it slowly, and when he was done he passed out.

He woke up in a steamy jungle. The silence was almost as oppressive as the heat. Harry looked around, and saw nothing. He set off in a spiral search pattern. The silence was starting to drive him nuts. He froze when he heard a growl coming from the shadows. He looked around but saw nothing.

"Hello?" There was no response.

Suddenly there was a rustling behind him and a massive black cat strode out of the shadow of a large tree. It was so dark it was almost appeared to be a cat shaped gateway to another dimension where not even the stars in the sky had discovered fire. _No, wait a minute. The eyes._ The eyes glowed green, even in broad daylight. It looked like it had at least a hundred pounds on Sirius's animagus form. Harry carefully reached out and scratched it bend it's ears. The cat let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a mew. Harry grinned and passed out.

The first thing that he noticed upon waking was the strong smell of permanent marker that assaulted his nose. He decided to puzzle that one out later. He looked at his dad and said, "Black panther. A big one at that. Makes Sirius's form look puny.

Sirius looked at James and said, "We're gonna need Moony's help with these. I can't think of any nicknames for them, can you?"

James shook his head. "Not a one. I want to say Shadow for Harry, but that seems a bit too obvious. I guess Hermione could be Regal, but that still leaves us with nothing for Matt. I just can't think of anything for a puma.

"What about Snagglepuss or Murgatroy?" suggested Hermione.

"Nah, those are just plain stupid," said James. "We'll talk to Remus and get back to you."

The next few days were fairly boring. Christmas was a lone bright point. They all got together at the Robertsons house, where they had a delicious meal, consisting of roasted turkey, and all the trimmings. Hermione and her parents gave Harry a copy of every Rush studio album on CD, and they gave Matt the same. Hermione's parents gave her a copy of Metallica's self titled album, a copy of the new Skid Row album "Slave to the Grind," ("But they're glam!") and a copy of Jethro Tull's album "Crest of the Knave" ("Totally robbed Metallica that year.") Harry's parents gave Harry and Matt Magic CD players like they had given Hermione for her birthday. They gave Hermione a Weird Sisters "CD," except it wasn't a CD, as it only worked in a Magic CD player. Additionally Harry's dad gave Harry an invisibility cloak. Matt's parents gave each of the kids a baldric. Since nearly everyone at Hogwarts was suddenly carrying swords or daggers of some sort, Sirius gave Harry and Hermione each a blade with the same charms as Matt's. Hermione was given a machete, and Harry received a 12 inch Bowie knife, almost identical to Matt's, but without the built in survival kit. Sirius gave Matt a magical weight set consisting of two dumbbells that could change into a barbell when tapped with a wand, and could weigh as much or as little as desired. They were all given a book on the theory behind animagus transformations. From their friends they received assorted candies, though Luna had given them each a year's subscription to The Quibbler.

Soon it was time to return to school. On New Years, they all loaded up into the van and headed to Lambert Airport. The kids and the Grangers boarded the plane and knew that they were returning to a Hogwarts that would be different from the one they left. And they still didn't have Marauder nicknames!

A/N: Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Leave them in a review and I'll get back to you. I need ideas for the Marauder nicknames for the three. I know it's a short chapter, but I struggled to write this. I hope you enjoy it. I spent part of my time working on "Without You" and on another fic that I haven't posted yet. I hope to have the third fic posted soon.

Don't be surprised if I expand parts of this chapter at a later date.

And seriously, I need ideas for the nicknames. At least for Matt, anyway. I refuse to update until I get some.


	9. New Years Explanations

Disclaimer: If you haven't figured it out by now, go get your head examined. It might be a tumor. Oh, and the lyrics to the two songs belong to Monty Python, not that any of my readers actually get any of the Python references.

And now, No. 2: The larch. The...Larch. The larch.

A/N: I took a break to work on some other stuff. Mainly I was waiting for a good suggestion for Matt's animagus name. I'd like to thank ficwad user Cateagle for the name I chose. I don't know if I will include it in this chapter, but I have decided.

I hope from now on most of my chapters will be closer in length to the Prologue I wrote for Innocence Faded. /shameless self-promotion

I have made some improvements to Chapter 8, I suggest you reread it. A joke at the beginning was fixed, I improved the description of Harry's animagus form, and I modified the rundown of Christmas gifts.

The first hints of Harry/Hermione are in this chapter. Granted it's as subtle as Ms. Rowling's hints of Harry/Ginny in Chamber of Secrets, but it's a start. Will probably be it, for a while anyway.

Also, I find it very funny that in Monty Python's "Penis Song," Percy is one of the euphemisms used.

There will be very crude humor in this chapter. you've been warned.

And now, for something completely different.

**Chapter 9: New Years Explanations.**

They spent two days with the Grangers on Privet Drive to get rid of jet lag. On the second day, Lily--who had accompanied Harry and Matt to England with the Grangers--decided to talk to her sister.

So it was that eleven o'clock in the morning found Lily, accompanied by Harry, Matt, and Hermione, walking up the path to Number Four, Privet Drive. Lily had initially planned on going alone, but Harry wanted to meet his cousin, and Matt and Hermione wouldn't let Harry near the porker alone.

Lily knocked on the door, which was promptly answered by a tall thin woman with a face resembling Secretariat. Matt wanted to feed her a lump of sugar and a handful of oats.

The woman took one look at Lily and scowled. "What do you want?" was all she said; her expression and tone were ones that said that she did not know the person in front of her, though her eyes said differently. The minute the woman opened the door Matt could feel the jealousy and resentment rolling off of her like the cold from an open fridge. Just behind her stood Dudley. A slightly less fat Dudley.

Lily appeared hurt by her sister's reaction. "I just want to talk with my sister. It's been too long, Petunia. I've missed you, ever since I left for Hogwarts the first time. I know it can never be like it was before, and I don't expect it to. But can I at least send my nephew a gift for his birthday and Christmas? I promise there will be no," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "magic involved, in the gift itself or the delivery," she whispered in her sister's ear. "Well, sister, what do you say? I can leave you an address to write to, if you want."

Petunia was shocked. When at last she found her voice, she said, "I'll think about it, but please leave your address. In the very unlikely event that we do accept your offer, I'll send you a letter. Until such a time, I would appreciate it if you and your little demonspawn left my home and didn't return." At that she slammed the door in Lily's face.

As they reached the sidewalk, Lily sighed and stated, "Can't say I didn't expect that to happen, Petunia slamming the door in my face. Though I was kind of surprised when she didn't do it as soon as she saw me."

The rest of the day was spent listening to music while playing Dungeons & Dragons, starting with Metallica's self-titled album, followed by the Skid Row CD Hermione had received for Christmas. The day was capped of with the individual songs "2112," "The Trees," and "Spirit of Radio," by Rush, and "Freebird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. By the time their supper was ready, they already knew what the wake up call was going to be on the first day back.

The next day the trio was settled into their compartment, and Matt was still trying to get his friends to see his point of view on what song to play the next morning when Luna stepped into the compartment.

As the compartment door opened, Matt could be heard saying, "...ook, I know you prefer "2112," but the solo on the Skynyrd's Innyrds version of "Free Bird" is the musical equivalent to a wet dream." He looked up to see Luna, who looked puzzled at his comment. Harry thought that the color of his face clashed horribly with the jersey--a replica of one of his dad's home jerseys--he was wearing.

"What's a wet dream?" asked Hermione.

Harry laughed at this. _Imagine, Hermione not knowing something!_

Matt sent Harry a pleading look, and Harry was sorely tempted to let Matt explain his own way out of this one, but acquiesced, knowing that if he were in the same situation--having his female cousin ask him what a wet dream was--he would be running down the list of spells he knew that would kill him--or at least incapacitate him to where he wouldn't have to explain.

"Well, a wet dream is...uh, it's like this...when a guy dreams about, uh..."Harry searched for the best way to say it what he was trying to say. "When a guy, uh, has an _exciting_ dream they sort of, uh..." He was really wishing he hadn't laughed at the question earlier. He was trying not to laugh now. Of course, if he were to laugh now it would be the hysterical laugh of a madman, but that didn't matter. "They...uh...well...they have a _happy ending_." Harry said, finally remembering a euphemism that Sirius had used one time, earning him a rather large zucchini charmed to jam itself where the sun--hopefully--didn't shine.

Matt seemed to remember this incident as well, particularly the consequences of asking Harry's mom what Sirius had meant. What had followed was the most horrifying 4 hours either of them could remember, as they received the "talk," first from James and Theon--whose "talk" had taken an hour and a half and included several disturbing charts and diagrams, along with a failed attempt to force them into a pensieve memory--then Jenny and Lily spending the following two and a half hours making sure Harry and Matt had the info right, including extensive use of technical terms like nocturnal emission, fellatio, and more uses of the word 'penis' than in a Dr. Ruth Westheimer seminar.

Harry was saved from that particular dark place--or so he thought--when Hermione cleared her throat, "I said, what's a 'happy ending'?" apparently he had been so lost in his thoughts about that evil day to realize she had been talking.

Harry figured it was just best to have it out in the open and get it over with. "It's uh, another word for, uh...for orgasm." He almost whispered the last word.

Hermione looked mortified. Matt turned to Harry and said, "I didn't think it was possible. You've offended her so much she can't think of a snappy comeback!"

About halfway to Hogsmeade the compartment door opened, revealing Malfoy, Stay-Puft, and Michelin. Before anyone could politely suggest places for them to go, Malfoy drawled, "So how was Christmas with the mudbloods, Potter?" Before anyone else could react, Matt--who had been closest to the door--had Malfoy by the wrist in a situation that mirrored the one from the previous September.

"What did I tell you before, you lousy faggot? I told you not to insult my family again didn't I?" Malfoy nodded, followed by a sickening crackle, vaguely reminiscent of bubble wrap being twisted, which could only be a wrist shattering. "Now get the fuck out of here, you racist prick."

Malfoy was tripping over Stay-Puft and Michelin on his way out. "I can't believe I actually shattered his wrist. I only said that to scare him the last time. There's no way I have enough strength to do that."

"Of course you don't. It was accidental magic. Direct contact lowers the threshold at which it appears, along with increasing the effects. Had you been touching him anywhere else, that wrist would merely have gone limp--well, more limp than it already was--had you just been in his face, it would have been sore and stiff for several days. If you had been a foot away, nothing would have happened," Harry explained. "Direct discharge of accidental magic is not a very common occurrence amongst wizards and witches, owing to the fact that they tend to settle disagreements from a distance. The emotional threshold for direct discharge of accidental magic is still very high, but as always it is lowest when dealing with the emotions of anger and fear."

Hermione was stunned, "How is it that you can come up with a thorough explanation like that and yet you're almost always an inch or two short on your essays?"

"I don't use flowery language or loaded sentences, unlike you. I give somewhere between the bare minimum and too much information," Harry said. Sensing what her next question was going to be, he added, "I just never have time or energy to rewrite the whole thing."

Matt looked between his best friend and his favorite--well, only--cousin. They didn't know it themselves--he had just figured it out that morning over breakfast--but they were in love, or at least headed toward a strong attraction. Though there were no outward signs, as of yet, he knew that it was inevitable. He saw it in their eyes, their souls.

They were the only two he would regularly make eye contact with, and he remembered what their souls had looked like to him when they had been younger. He didn't know if their souls had always fit together like puzzle pieces, or if this was a new development. It was times like these that he wished his ability wasn't so damn rare, that there were books that helped him decipher some of the more complex things he saw. Unfortunately, according to Dumbledore, not a single book had been written about the ability. Of the nearly twenty-five hundred known soul readers throughout history, none had written a book what it all meant.

The rest of the train ride passed fairly peacefully, and Luna finally explained what it was she was chasing whenever someone had a brain fart. Apparently she was under the impression that wrackspurts were to blame for the cortical flatulence. While wrackspurts--a sort of magical mosquito that fed on thought energy--were real, they were only found in the Serengeti region of Africa.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, the trio took advantage of the confusion and cast a special compulsion charm--developed by James and Sirius-on random students, though mainly targeting the Slytherins. They weren't told what it would do, just that it had a specific trigger phrase that Dumbledore was bound to say, though it couldn't be guaranteed not to trigger early. Having wormed the secret out of James before leaving, Matt surreptitiously cast the charm on Harry. He was eagerly awaiting Dumbledore saying the phrase 'fed and watered.'

The return feast was, as usual for a Hogwarts Feast, simply amazing, even featuring several dishes made with alligator, though Harry, Matt, and Hermione were the only ones to realize this.

After dessert Dumbledore stood up, and Matt was barely suppressing a grin as the headmaster began, "Now that you're all fed and watered-" He was interrupted as several people--mostly Slytherins--but a few Raven claws and Hufflepuffs were mixed in there, as well as at least three Gryffindors that had gotten in the way of the charms. But Matt was only paying attention to one person. Harry was making a valiant effort at resisting the compulsion, but it was a losing battle. Like everyone else hit with the charm, he stood up, walked up to the person he was most attracted to, and started singing:

_Sit on my face and tell me that you love me._

_I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too._

_I love to hear you oralise_

_When I'm between your thighs._

_You blow me away!_

_Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you._

_I'll sit on your face, and then I'll love you truly._

_Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine_

_If we sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play_

_Till we're blown away_

No one started until everyone was in position, and the charm allowed them to sing in perfect harmony. Though Matt was laughing mainly at the horrified looks on both Harry's and his cousin's faces, he did note, out of the corner of his eye that Malfoy was currently singing to Professor McGonagall while Goyle was singing to Malfoy, and Crabbe was singing to Goyle.

After peace was restored in the hall, Dumbledore finished his speech and dismissed the students. Now they only had to wait for the charm on Percy to be tripped. Sure enough, Percy could be heard indignantly shouting, "I'm a prefect!" whereupon he began singing, very loudly,

_GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE'S A LITTLE NUMBER I TOSSED OFF  
RECENTLY IN THE CARIBBEAN._

_Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,  
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong.  
It's swell to have a stiffy,  
It's divine to own a dick.  
From the tiniest little tadger,  
To the world's biggest prick._

_So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas.  
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.  
Your piece of pork,  
Your wife's best friend,  
Your Percy or your cock._

_You can wrap it up in ribbons,  
You can slip it in your sock.  
But don't take it out in public  
Or they will stick you in the dock,  
And you won't come back _

Professor McGonagall could be heard over the din of laughter giving Percy a weeks worth of detention and probation on his prefect status.

Matt knew that as soon as he got to the common room, all hell was gonna break loose. He wasn't disappointed. As soon as the portrait had closed, Matt had two wands pointed straight at his head.

"Aw, c'mon guys, can't you take a joke?" Matt asked.

"You knew that would happen, didn't you?" Harry asked accusingly.

"I knew that the charm made the targeted seek out the person that the affected was, uh, most attracted to, and made them sing a song to them. I didn't know what the song was, but I certainly had a good idea who you'd be singing to if I hit you with it," Matt said.

Hermione was not amused. "I've never been so mortified in my life, Matthew Mark Robertson!" She was almost as angry as Matt and Harry had ever seen her, the only time either of them had seen her angrier was the time that Kira spilled juice all over her brand new copy of_The Silmarillion_. She would later say that Keira was probably doing her a favor, considering how boring the story was. But she didn't speak to Keira for rest of that visit.

"I was the only one paying any attention to the two of you. Most people were watching Malfoy sing to McGonagall, while Goyle sang to Malfoy and Crabbe sang to Goyle," Matt said.

"But surely someone was--wait, what?" Hermione nearly shrieked.

"You heard me. Malfoy sang to McGonagall; Goyle sang to Malfoy; and Crabbe sang to Goyle. I'm as disturbed as you are about that. I almost--_almost_--regret hitting those three with that charm," Matt said, walking casually towards the boy's staircase.

He almost made it too, until...

"_Flattus maximus_!" Harry shouted. Matt was unable to dodge it, and suddenly experienced a case of extreme intestinal distress. "Break, Matt! Break like the wind!" Harry shouted, laughing, to the retreating back of his best friend. The door to the dorm could be heard slamming, followed by the unmistakable sound of wind being broken.

Hermione looked at Harry with an inquisitive look on her face and asked, "What did you hit him with, and where did you learn it?"

"Dad taught me. It's a modification of the laxative charm that converts the contents of your lower intestine to a gas before it forces your body to expel it," He noticed Seamus heading for the staircase. "Hey, Seamus, I don't think you wanna go up there just yet. Trust me on this."

After a couple of hours Harry figured the smell would have gone down, So he went up to the dorm, only to be assaulted by the god-awful stench he had hope to avoid. First thing he noticed was Matt, sitting up in his bed with the curtains open, reading, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Or at least he assumed that was a grin, it was hard to tell with the Bubble-Head Charm in place. Harry quickly cast a Bubble Head Charm on himself and prepared for bed. Next in was Seamus, who did the same as Harry and Matt. Neville and Dean followed shortly after, also silently applying the Bubble-Head Charm. Ron walked in, prepared for bed and fell asleep quickly. He didn't even appear to notice the smell.

At 5:30 the next morning, Harry was awoken by his silent alarm, as was Matt. They silently showered and got dressed to begin the day. They met Hermione in the common room at 5:55. "Why do you have Bubble-Head Charms on you?"

"No one wanted to, literally, clear the air last night," replied Harry.

They then began the day, as they had on every day they deemed a 'special occasion,' started "The Star Spangled Banner." As soon as that song was over, they headed for the Great Hall and started 2112 on their way.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, the "Overture" was just ending and the next movement, "Priests in the Temple of Syrinx," was just beginning with Geddy Lee's jarring falsetto bursting forth. They could just imagine some of the heavier sleepers reactions.

When the post arrived, Harry received a note carried by Bruce. Absently He wondered what the letter could be about. He set it aside until after he had gotten something to eat.

Twenty minutes later, After Matt and Hermione and finished eating, he decided to open the letter. It read

_Harry,_

_After consulting with Mr. Moony, Mr. Padfoot and Mr. Prongs would like to inform you and your friends of your new Marauder Nicknames. Your flighty friend is now Miss Regal, and your catty friend is now Mr. Softpaw. You are now Mr. Shadow. Initiation is this summer, on 4 July 1992. Be there._

_Messrs. Moony, Padfoot and Prongs._

As they finished the letter, Matt nudged Harry in the ribs, motioning towards a tightly packed knot of Slytherins currently walking into the hall. Harry got the idea, and pointed his wand at the Slytherins and whispered, "_Flattus maximus_," to humorous results.

This was going to be a great day.

A/N: I hope you like the chapter. It was a bitch to type. My Harry/Hermione hints, like J.K.'s Harry/Ginny hints, are as subtle as a sledgehammer. Not as long as I had hoped, but it'll do.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll get to them as soon as I can.

And now, a man with a tape recorder up his _brother's_ nose.


	10. The Eyes Have It

Disclaimer: Nice men, white suits, yadda, yadda, yadda. By now you realize that I'm not J.K. Rowling, and as such I make no money from this, right? Right? Good.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Moving day finally came, and I was caught _completely_ unaware. Honest. As I write this, I'm not sure when I'll get this up. Though, as of 3 March 2008, I've written three 4,000+ word chapters, another 3700+ word chapter, expanded one of the pre-existing chapters of Innocence Faded to 4000+ words, made various changes to the rest of Innocence Faded, plotted out a few more chapters. And I've written a 3000 word chapter for Without You.

Now for some actual story related notes. First, the Monty Python reference I threw into Chapter 4 was the wood Hermione's wand was made of, combined with the fact that it was the second wand she tried. I referenced the sketch "How to recognize trees from quite a ways away." Obviously no one got it. Second, there is no second note. Third, no poofters. (Plays laugh track) God this is a long author's note. As usual.

**Chapter 10: The "Eyes" Have It**

The day turned out not nearly as good as they thought it would be. First, in Potions, Matt managed to make the stuff they put inside Stretch Armstrong. Then, in History of Magic, Professor Binns shocked everybody by giving his first pop-quiz in almost 300 years.

Harry was sitting down to lunch next to Hermione, across from Matt and Ron, and as he reached for the last slice of ham, Hermione reached in and got it before he did.

"Hey, I wanted that!" Harry cried petulantly.

"'Tough titty,' said the kitty, 'the milk's all gone,'" Hermione replied. Matt sniggered.

Ron, once he got over the shock of what he just heard, said, "Still, I'd like to find out for myse--" He was unable to finish that statement after Matt's backhand. Ron tumbled off of the bench and the unmistakable _klunk_ of a skull on stone was heard

"Watch your mouth," Matt said. He then looked down and noticed the dazed look on Ron's face and sprang into triage mode. "Now, are you feeling dizzy or sick to your stomach? Perhaps disoriented? Do you know what day it is?"

"Uhh, I don't know what today is. I am feeling a little sick, and how am I supposed know if I'm disoriented or not if I'm not even sure where I am." Ron said while trying to uncross his eyes, and failing miserably.

"You've probably got a concussion. C'mon, let's go see Madame Pomfrey." With that the two of them went to the hospital wing.

Neville, who had been watching the whole exchange, asked, "What was that you said, Hermione, about a cat and her, er..."

Harry answered for her. "Oh, that? That was just some saying that Matt's grandma uses. It's sort of a long way of saying 'too bad,' or 'tough luck.' That wasn't even the best response I've heard. The best was one Sirius, my godfather, had. He leaned over to my dad and whispered 'I think we all guessed that already,' after Matt's grandma said it."

"So that's why Uncle Theon backhanded Sirius at Christmas. I was wondering. Like father, like son I guess," Hermione responded.

After lunch was Double Defense against the Dark Arts. The lesson was sub par even by Quirrell's already low standards. Matt, Harry, and Hermione weren't paying attention, however. They had figured out in the first month that Quirrell made things unnecessarily complicated and the book was all they really needed to pay attention to in order to understand the subject--not that it helped them in class, since no one seemed to get good grades in D.A.D.A. Unfortunately, near the end of the lesson Quirrell called on Matt for an answer to a question. He looked up...straight into Quirrell's eyes.

What he saw nearly made him scream, but he clamped down on that impulse. He was thankful that his face never showed much emotion, otherwise instead of the slight nervousness he knew most people would read in his expression, sheer terror would be plain for all to see. What he saw in Quirrell's eyes was this: two souls, one black as hell at night, disfigured and...and _stunted_, the other withering, dying, and black, though not nearly as black as the other one. It was as if the stunted one was killing the other one, forcing it out of the body. Luckily the bell rang just then, and Matt was able to reach the door before anyone else.

Harry and Hermione rushed to catch up, but despite their longer legs Matt was faster. They finally caught up to him as he slowed to a stop in front of the Transfiguration room. "Why did you take off like a bat out of hell back there?" Harry asked as he caught his breath. Matt was barely short of breath.

"Quirrell. He's got two souls in him. One is blacker than black--so black that if Einstein is right and the universe really is circular, it'd come back around as white several times before finally settling down on black--disfigured and stunted. It's pure evil. The other is merely as black as the dark side of the moon. I'm not sure which one was his, but either way, we got a dark wizard teaching us Defense. Conflict of interest, don't ya think?"

They caught Professor McGonagall as she was exiting her classroom. "Professor, we really need to talk to you. It's a matter of school security," Hermione said as they walked up.

"Very well, please follow me to my office," the Professor said, as if humoring them, obviously believing that there was nothing that three first years could say that was of any consequence to the security of the school.

As soon as the door shut, Matt immediately said, "Quirrell is possessed. At least I think he is, I don't know what half of the stuff I see means, bu-"

"Possessed? What you see? What are you talking about?!" a flustered Professor McGonagall sputtered at the boy currently staring at his shoes. Wordlessly, he looked up, into her eyes, and she felt as if he wasn't looking at her, rather he was looking _inside_ her, at...at her _soul_! She'd never been this uncomfortable in her entire life. He looked down again.

When she finally managed to find her voice, she asked, "Mr. Robertson, you wouldn't happen to be a soul reader, by any chance, would you?" He nodded. "That explains a lot, but what makes you think Quirrell is possessed?" Matt just stood there, staring at his shoes.

Harry noticed Matt's discomfort, and spoke up, "Allow me, Professor. He told me and Hermione what he saw, and he can correct me if he feels the need. We were in Defense, near the end of the period, when Quirrell asked Matt a question..." Harry, with occasional input from Hermione, proceeded to explain what happened, and what Matt had told them.

Professor McGonagall was very grim-faced by the end of the tale. "Very well, I shall be taking this to Dumbledore at once. You should hurry up to Gryffindor Tower until Quirrell has been dealt with. Food will be sent to you.

Shortly after the trio reached the common room the announcement that students were to return to their dormitories rang from the walls. The portraits however, did not seem to notice it. Neither did Nearly Headless Nick, who was having a rather heated argument with a portrait of...himself?

"Hey, Nick, You do know that arguing with yourself is a sign of insanity right? Particularly if you find yourself losing the argument," Harry quipped to the partially decapitated ghost. Nearly Headless Nick merely glided into a wall, muttering to himself what sounded suspiciously like a monologue about a dead parrot that Harry had heard his dad quoting to Sirius once. Harry shrugged, and proceeded to attack the food on the table that had just appeared in the middle of the common room.

By the time the rest of Gryffindor had arrived, Matt had clammed up and was barely eating. Harry made his way over to where Hermione was sitting and sat next to her. "I hope we aren't locked up in here too long. I think Matt needs to see Madame Pomfrey. He's really shook up," he said, looking over to where his best friend sat alone.

As he watched, Ron went over to try to talk to him. He didn't have much success in getting Matt to talk, so he came over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting. He sat on the other side of Hermione. "Sorry about what I said at lunch. I wasn't thinking," he said to Hermione.

"And that's any different from normal because...?" Hermione replied, somewhere between irritation and amusement.

"Oi! I'm trying to apologize and all you do is insult me! What's up with that?" Ron exclaimed.

Harry, who had chuckled at Hermione's comment, roared with laughter at Ron's reaction. After he composed himself, he said, "Dude, that mean's she accepted your apology. If she says she accepts your apology she's only humoring you, usually because she doesn't think it's necessary, though sometimes because she's still carrying a minor grudge. If she's really angry, then she won't say anything. That's when you should run." This earned him slap in the back of the head. He looked at her and grinned.

Ron shook his head, muttering what sounded like, "Mental," as he stood up and went to talk to Seamus. Harry looked back at Hermione and said, "Perhaps we should go sit with Matt. Show of support and all that." She nodded and they walked over to where Matt was sitting alone.

They just sat there talking, not trying to draw Matt into their conversation, something for which Matt was grateful. He could always count on them to be there for him, and to understand when he truly wanted to think. Their presence next to him also kept everyone away. Everyone except...

"Hi Harry. Hi Hermione. Hi Matthew," a dreamy voice, seemingly uninterested in anything on the material plane, interrupted Matt's thoughts. He perked up a little.

"Hi Luna," he said, speaking for the first time since he left Professor McGonagall's office. He knew Harry and Hermione were wondering why he spoke to Luna and not them, and, if he was honest with himself, so was he. Something about her serene presence had a calming effect on him. As Luna traipsed off to speak with Parvati and Lavender, Matt joined Harry and Hermione's conversation.

The next day Quirrell's seat at the staff table was empty. No explanation was given except that he was taking part in actions against the staff Code of Conduct. Harry heard a sixth year Hufflepuff lean over to his friend and whisper, "I wonder who it was that he was shagging," while looking around the hall. The friend merely shrugged.

Dumbledore himself took over teaching D.A.D.A., but only until Quirrell's replacement, "was able to free himself from prior engagements," whatever that meant. Approximately three weeks later, during supper, there was a new person sitting at the seat that Quirrell had vacated. The first year Gryffindors couldn't tell who it was, as his or her face was hidden beneath the shadow of their hood. The shadow was unnaturally dark, considering the lighting, signifying that it was magical. This suggested several possible explanations. The most likely was that the person had a flair for the dramatics, though Harry felt that there was a possibility that he didn't want to be recognized, or otherwise seen.

After supper, Professor Dumbledore stood. Every eye shot towards the staff table, conversations stopped mid-syllable. The entire school wanted to know who the mysterious stranger was, as evidenced by the fact that no one had left the Great Hall when they were done eating, which was very odd for a night that there wasn't a feast.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Now, I would like to introduce you to your new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts," he paused here. "Unfortunately," all across the hall faces fell, "he wanted to do it himself. He actually had it put in his contract, believe it or not," Dumbledore shook his head. Harry wondered for a second if they'd been stuck with Gilderoy Lockhart. Though not as popular in the U.S. as in the U.K., he still had a dedicated fan base of middle-aged housewives. He banished the thought the instant he had it. _There's no way in hell that Dumbledore would ever hire that pompous, self-important windbag_, Harry thought. "So with out further ado--" the headmaster was cut off as an unseen brass section blared. Harry instantly recognized the music. It was the piece that was played in _2001: A Space Odyssey_ in the beginning, when the Monolith appears to the monkeys. The chair rose slowly, changing into a matte...black...mo...no...lith. Harry suddenly had suspicions as to who the teacher was. He received a dig in the ribs from Matt and a knowing smirk from Hermione, telling him they had the same suspicions. Sure enough...

There was a shrieking wail resembling the sound the monolith made in the movie, and the cloak changed into what resembled a tie-dyed version of the space suit from the movie, and as the wail died out it was replaced with the exclamation, "My God! It's full of staaaarrrrrrssssssss," which got lower and slower towards the end. Suddenly the tie-dye space suit was normal clothing, at least for the person who was now wearing it. Everyone gasped. Not at the magic, though that was all very tricky. No, they gasped at the person now standing at the top of the monolith, a man of average height and build, wearing military fatigues and a lurid orange beret. The man had hazel eyes, and under the beret he had close cropped, but still somehow messy, black hair. He stood at attention, surveying the crowd, which was silent except for three particular Gryffindors snickering quietly. He waved his wand at Harry, who suddenly found himself hanging upside-down by one foot. James Potter, affecting his best Drill Sergeant voice, asked, "Where are you from, boy?"

Harry, having watched _Full Metal Jacket_ with his dad over the break decided to play along. "Missouri, sir," he said, wondering how far his dad would take it.

"They say there's only two things that come outta Missouri, boy. Steers and," he paused, flashing a smile at Harry, "and I don't think the headmaster would appreciate it if I finished that statement."

With that Harry found himself landing in Matt's arms. "My hero!" he said in a breathless voice and pretended to kiss his best friend on the lips. Matt, playing along, dropped Harry on the floor and proceeded to loudly gargle his pumpkin juice, spitting in his own goblet, which was now in front of Harry's plate, as Harry had switched it so that Matt's goblet was in front of Harry's plate, and Harry's was in front of Matt's as soon as he had gotten to his feet. Matt had noticed this and as soon as no one was watching switched them back.

James Potter loudly cleared his throat to silence the sporadic laughter that had spread across the hall, and spoke in a voice that was almost, _almost_, completely scrubbed of the Yorkshire accent he once had, the last traces of it were now mixed in with the barest hints of a southern twang. "I am Lieutenant Colonel James Potter of the United States Army Reserve 1138th Battlemage Division, also known as the Orange Berets. You may not be familiar with us, but we operate out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky, home of the 101st Army Airborne, better known as the Screaming Eagles. The 1138th is an elite fighting unit that mixes magical and muggle combat techniques, including the use of firearms, and we make your highest-level magical law enforcement division look like the muggle Bobbies. I would compare us to a similar British military force, but the United Kingdoms is one of the few nations that don't have one. But I digress. I'm here to make up for the piss poor--oops, sorry professor,"

"Quite alright, as that is an accurate description of your predecessors quality of work," the headmaster replied.

"Right. As I was saying, I am here to make up for the poor quality of work Professor Quirrell performed. My classes will work at an accelerated pace, as I have less than two terms to teach you what you would normally learn in three terms. I'll take no guff from any of you, and any late assignments will be a zero, the only exceptions will be for cases where Madame Pomfrey tells me you were unable to complete your work. Anyone acts up in my class, they will be dealt with by the Black Knight." At this point one of the suits of armor from the castle clanked its way to the front of the hall. It was wielding, instead of the usual axe, sword, mace, or the occasional hammer, what appeared to be a chicken. Yes, a chicken; it was plucked, beheaded, and bled out, but otherwise intact. It brandished the bird like it would a club, holding it by the neck in one gauntlet and slapping the heavy end against it's other gauntlet. It was a rather ridiculous sight. Every few seconds it made a vocalization that sounded like 'nih,' in a rather high-pitched voice. While everyone's attention was on the 'Black Knight,' James returned his chair back to normal with a wave of his odd, metallic wand.

After the armor clanked its way out of the hall, Dumbledore called everyone's attention to himself. "That is all for tonight. As I hope you all know, you can leave the hall whenever you want to." And with that the spell was broken. Harry and his friends walked up to Professor Potter, struggling against the flow of bodies.

"So, uh, Professor, that was an interesting spectacle back there," Harry said. "After the first two Kubrick references I half expected you to introduce yourself as Professor Strangelove, or something to that effect."

"Nah. There was no way that anyone besides you three would have gotten that reference. I'm not sure that many of the muggleborns got the references as it is. On a more serious note, I want to talk to you in my office before you head back to your common room." With that he led Harry, Hermione, and Matt to his office.

After they entered the office, he shut the door and cast several privacy charms on it and the surrounding walls. Harry, messing with his dad, silently mouthed, "If your not careful we won't be able to hear you."

Harry's dad shook his head, amused, before turning serious. "Now, as you three know the real circumstances under which Quirrell was sacked, perhaps you should know a little more about what happened after you told McGonagall. They called in a team of Aurors, and managed to subdue Quirrell. Unfortunately, the possessor flew the coop, leaving Quirrell's body a dead husk."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Apparently, he was being possessed by Voldemort himself, according to Dumbledore. I thought we were done with him ten years ago, but I thought wrong, obviously. But the point is, I wanted you to know who it was that had possessed Quirrell. Word is, Matt might receive an award for special services to the school," the new professor said, brightening a little.

"Now the main reason I have all the privacy charms in place is that I've heard that a certain group of troublemakers has been giving the entire school musical wake-up calls from time to time. The Marauders never accomplished this feat in their time. Came close a couple of times, but we still didn't figure out those charms until later. Matt, your father had a request. He sent me this album and said you would know what he was thinking of," Harry's dad handed Matt a copy of the Beatles' 'White Album.' Matt grinned.

After about a half hour of small talk, during which Professor Potter admitted he jumped at the opportunity to be out of the house until his wife was closer to giving birth, he escorted the trio of Gryffindor first years to the Fat Lady's hallway. They went straight to bed.

At 5:55 the next morning, "The Star Spangled Banner" rang from the walls. At 6:05, "No. 9" blared through the school, at one point completely emptying the owlery. The cacophony of the song was so great that the three were tempted to stop it, but the screams of terror they heard made up for it. Finally, to make up for it, they played the song In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida--the full seventeen minute version, not the single version--at 6:15. There were actually more screams caused by the last song than by the second.

That morning the Gryffindors had double potions first thing. Written over the door, in neat calligraphy, was the sentence "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." Harry grinned and wondered how many of his classmates would get _that_ reference. Professor Snape's entrance was subdued compared to normal, almost as if he didn't think he could keep a straight face if he went for his usual dramatics. By the time he was done with roll call he was back to his usual self, unfortunately. On the bright side, Matt actually managed a perfect potion on his first try, for only the third time all year.

After lunch, the Gryffindors, along with the Ravenclaws, had their first lesson with Professor Potter. When they entered they saw a shotgun sitting on the teacher's desk. Harry and Matt instantly recognized it as the gun that Harry's dad used for hunting.

The door opened and closed quietly, and the new professor strode to the front of the room, followed closely by the 'Black Knight,' which was still clutching the chicken. "Listen up," Professor Potter said as he reached the front, "You can call me Professor Potter, or you can call me Colonel. I will try to make this class as fun as possible, but due to time constraints our first priority in this class is to cover the subject manner quickly and thoroughly. I can be your best friend, or I can make Professor Snape seem cuddly by comparison. Your choice. Now when I call roll, I want you to respond with 'Here, sir,' got that?"

Most of the class responded with, "Yes, sir," though a few simply nodded. The 'Black Knight' responded instantly, suddenly holding the chicken as one might hold a rifle, and eggs shot out of the dead and gutted chicken and hit the students who had not said "Yes, sir," right in the middle of their forehead. Luckily they were hard boiled, so no one got egg white in their eyes.

"That's 'yes, _sir_,' understand?" those who had been hit with the eggs nodded, replying in the required manner, and he proceeded to call roll. When he was done he picked up the gun laying on his desk and said, "Now, you may have noticed the shotgun on my desk. Does anyone know why I'm showing it to you?" When no one raised their hand, he looked at Harry and asked, "Do you know? I would think you, of all people should know."

"That's your shotgun, 'The Second Amendment,' the one you killed Voldemort with," replied Harry.

Professor Potter tapped the butt of the gun with his wand and gold lettering appeared, forming the words 'The Second Amendment.' Everyone gasped, except Harry, Matt, and Hermione, who pointedly let out fake yawns.

"This here stopped the rise of the single most evil being to walk the face of the earth. It's proof that magic is not the be all and end all, so remember that. I, and any subsequent teacher you have, can teach you magic that will be helpful against magic, but there is no foolproof magic that can stop bullets. The human reaction time is just not fast enough. Think of this as a reminder of why we have an International Statute for Secrecy." With that the class began, and it was one of the most difficult single classes of the entire year.

The rest of the year was going to be very difficult indeed.

--

A/N: Yes, I've done away with Quirrell. I realized as I wrote Chapter 8 that I had left out several points where clues to the presence of the Philosopher's Stone should have been. So I decided to do it this way. I could have waited, but I wanted to get it over with. The quote "Abandon hope all ye who enter here," is from one of those epic poems about hell or the devil, either "Dante's Inferno," by Virgil or "Paradise Lost" by John Milton. It was written over the gates of hell. The next chapter will sort of skim over the final months of the school year.

In the unlikely event that anybody reading this is actually a member of the U.S. Army Reserve 1138th Battalion--or Division or whatever it may be called--or knows anybody who is, I do not actually know what it's specialty is. Rather the number is yet another reference, though not Kubrick. And when I say that the beret was a lurid shade of orange, I mean something along the lines of a traffic cone. The really bright ones at that.

Finally,

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up and put them in a review, and I'll try to respond to the interesting ones.


	11. Time Flies Like an Arrow

Disclaimer: If you find yourself the subject of a prophecy, be sure to write down the details.

**Chapter 11: Time Flies Like an Arrow. Fruit Flies Like a Banana.**

For the rest of the school year, any spare time students may have enjoyed previously was spent working on Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. This caused an increase in tension between Harry and the younger students from the other houses. The older students tended to ignore him, though whether it was because they were too busy or because they were more mature it was impossible to tell.

Shortly after Easter, Matt was quietly given an award for special services to the school. Dumbledore awarded Gryffindor 100 points at that time, but they were gone by the end of the week.

Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup, due in no small part to Harry's skill at the seeker position. Unfortunately they finished a not so close second in the House cup, behind Slytherin.

The morning of the train ride back to London, an eclectic group of songs woke the residents of Hogwarts. It all started with "Reveille" . . . at 5:03 a.m. At 6:00 Harry, Hermione and Matt played "La Marseilles," followed shortly by "School's Out" by Alice Cooper, "Summertime Blues" as performed by The Who, "Youth Gone Wild" by Skid Row, "Freebird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and "Jessica" by The Allman Brother's Band (or as Hermione referred to the song, the ultimate expression of freedom in musical form).

As they were walking to breakfast, Hermione pondered aloud, "I wonder who it was that played 'Reveille' this morning."

Harry looked at her as if she'd grown an extra head. "And she's supposed to be the smart one," he muttered to Matt. To Hermione he said, "Do you know what 'Reveille' is used for?"

"Isn't it used as a wake up call?" she asked.

Harry nodded, "In the military."

"And your home," Matt commented to Harry.

Hermione's eyes flashed with recognition. "Now you're getting it!" Harry said. "I would've thought that the enchantments necessary to broadcast it to the entire school would have been a dead give away."

"Oh, shut up. I didn't sleep well last night," Hermione hissed irritably.

"Bad dreams?" Matt questioned.

"Strange is how I would describe them," Hermione said. Her vision flicked to Harry as she said this.

Harry yawned for what Matt counted as the fourteenth time since waking, not counting any that might have happened while they were in the showers, though he estimated that at the frequency that they came it was at least four. "What about you Harry, how'd you sleep?"

"Poorly."

"Weird dreams?" Matt asked on a hunch.

Harry stole a quick glance at Hermione and said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So, how much of a mess did you make of your sheets?" Matt asked his friend, though in his mind he was connecting the dots.

"It wasn't like that! Geez, you can be a real pain when you've had more sleep than the rest of us, you know that?" Matt understood 'the rest of us' to refer to just Hermione and Harry.

"So can you, y'know," Matt mumbled as they neared the Great Hall. The truth was, Matt had probably slept worse than either of them. Shortly after midnight he had woken to the sound of a conversation, though the voices had been muffled, as if through a door. He'd heard enough to know that the voices were those of Harry and Hermione. It had happened once before, shortly after returning to Hogwarts after New Years. A few days later he had gotten the chance to speak to the headmaster. When he asked Professor Dumbledore about it, the headmaster had told him that he was apparently catching the edge of a subconscious telepathic exchange. The reason Matt was hearing what was said was because he was so attuned to both of them, or so Dumbledore theorized. Less was known about subconscious telepathic exchanges than there was about soul readers.

As they entered the Great Hall, Matt stopped talking altogether. Sometimes he felt comfortable enough to talk to his friends with so many other people around, but today he had a lot on his mind. Many people in school--mostly those upperclassmen in other houses--thought he was a mute who had mastered the art of nonverbal spell casting before he ever came to Hogwarts. Still others thought he was some sort of idiot savant, like Dustin Hoffman's character in the movie _Rain Man._

As Matt ate breakfast, he looked around the Great Hall, only half paying attention to what Harry and Hermione were talking about. He always did, unless he was in an especially good mood. He watched Percy Weasley look straight at him, his lip curling in disgust--as he always did when he looked at Matt--as he entered the hall. At first he had thought it was related to the incident where Percy had ended up with a mohawk, considering what had happened the morning that he had first noticed it--it was the day before Christmas break, and Percy had just shaved his scalp. The final straw had been when he tried one last time to get rid of the mohawk and ended up with vertical stripes of varying width in his hair. They were a rather vile shade of chartreuse.

Lately, however, Matt had noticed that same look of disgust--really just the faintest hint of a sneer combined with the tightening of his facial muscles suggesting narrowing eyes--whenever Percy looked at several other students. Matt was not sure why he favored those particular students with such looks, but he did know that he didn't like it. He sighed and turned back to his eggs wishing for what seemed like the hundredth time that month that he could get an actual biscuit.

--

The scarlet train was speeding through the Scottish countryside. Or maybe it was English countryside. _Hell,_ Harry thought, _we could be in Wales and I would never know the difference._

He was lost in thought today. Matt had actually said more since they got on the train than he had. He was half paying attention to the conversation--a discussion about plans for summer--while staring out the window. He wondered what he was going to tell his friends Stateside about what he had been doing during the last year. _Who am I kidding? Matt is my only friend in America._ It wasn't that he didn't like the people his age--_Okay, so maybe I _do_ hate my peers back home_. It didn't start out like that, but when he started first grade, and saw everyone picking on Matt, he came to his friend's defense. He was branded an outcast by both the first and second grade classes that day, and it only spread from there.

He was drawn from his thoughts by a new sound--a harsh, yet vaguely familiar voice. Luna appeared to be in a trance, speaking in a hoarse croak. She said,

_The Darkness is coming.  
A Dark so deep that Light alone will not triumph.  
The Darkness is coming._

_Hastening the arrival of the Gray Lord and the Forces of Twilight.  
The Darkness is coming.  
The Light has faltered, and Dusk is upon us.  
The Darkness is coming._

"Holy shit!" Matt murmured as Luna collapsed into a coughing fit.

"Eloquent as usual," Hermione muttered.

Harry was pondering the meaning as Ron said, "I think she just made a Prophecy. Sounded kinda ominous if you ask me."

Luna nodded, saying, "I know what you mean. This doesn't bode well for the heliopaths in their centuries old war against the wraiths. Though I'm not sure what that bit about the Gray Lord and the Forces of Twilight was." Her voice still contained a hint of a croak.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I read that most seers don't know when they make prophecies, much less the contents of them," she said, ignoring Luna's interpretation.

Neville piped up, "It happens sometimes. Kind of like lucid dreams."

"How do you know so much about it?" Harry asked conversationally.

"I have a cousin in Vancouver who's a seer. He sometimes remembers what he prophesizes. He doesn't always remember--his wife says he predicted the earthquake in San Francisco a few years ago while they were," he paused here, apparently searching for the best way to say the next part, "_being intimate_, didn't even miss a beat, though he apparently finished in the middle of the prophesy. He doesn't remember a thing."

"TMI, Neville, _TMI_," Harry responded.

"What does _that_ mean?" Neville asked.

"Too much information," Harry answered.

"Oh. I wasn't sure."

At this point the door to the compartment opened, revealing the trio of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Before Malfoy could say anything, Matt loudly drawled in an exaggerated southern twang, "Look what we got here, boys. It's the fairy prince and his loyal fairy bodyguards."

"You won't be laughing when my father has you expelled, you filthy mudbl--ahhh!" he took off and ran, screaming like a schoolgirl, as Matt jumped up.

"Maybe he's learning," Hermione sad.

"Naaaah," Harry replied. "He'll keep coming back for more, you watch it. He's never gonna stop."

The rest of the train ride passed without incident. When they reached platform 9 3/4, they said their goodbyes and met up with Harry's dad. Hermione's mom was waiting for them on the other side of the barrier.

As soon as they reached the car--a brand new Jaguar XJ--Harry told his dad about the prophecy. After he finished his story, his father said, "Normally, I'd treat any lucid seer--a seer who remembers their prophecies--with suspicion, but given the content of this one, I think it might be real."

"Why do you not trust them? And if you don't trust them, why do you say this prophecy might be real?" Hermione asked.

Harry's dad turned around in his seat and said, "I usually don't trust them because they could easily be making it up. This one might be real, because it references an obscure prophecy made by Nostradamus, one not in muggle, or magical, histories. Not many people know about it, but when I started at the FBI, I was able to gain access to a copy of it. He mentions a Darkness--that's with a capital 'd'--a Darkness that will be defeated by the Gray Lord and the Forces of Twilight. There have been at least three other prophecies--not counting today's--that mentioned the Gray Lord or the Forces of Twilight."

"I wonder what they say?" Hermione pondered aloud.

"I might be able to get transcripts, but I don't see what can be gained from them," he shrugged. "I don't even understand why you'd be interested in them in the first place."

"Luna's prophecy made it sound like whatever is going to happen will happen soon," Hermione said. "Personally I'd like to know what to expect."

She paused, apparently deep in thought. "What I don't get is why a prophecy by Nostradamus would be left out of muggle history, and why the Wizarding World would ignore it--especially given that many of his visions have thus far proven accurate."

"Well, for one, many people in the magical community disregard his prophecies because all evidence point to him being a muggle. Many others ignore them because he was a lucid seer. There's even debate about whether or not he was the one that made it, as it's the only prophecy attributed to him that's not written in a quatrain. The only reason his so-called 'undisclosed' prophecy kept on record is because of the other three other prophecies referring to the Gray Lord." He shrugged, "It's been brought up every time any dark wizard with a following pops up. Most people nowadays think it's just a load of bull--"

"Watch you language!" Candace Granger snapped from the driver's seat.

"--crap. But the point is, it's become just another conspiracy theory, the kind people like Xenophilius Lovegood obsess over. But after what you've told me, I think it might be real.

"God help us if it is."

--

The day after they got home, Harry, Matt, and Hermione--who was staying only until the fifth of July--met up in the Potter's basement late that afternoon for their first lesson in becoming animagi.

"First and foremost," James began, "you have to be in excellent physical condition, at least for the first change. You three shouldn't have a problem with that, but we're going to start with some exercises anyway. I'll be teaching you the basics of tai chi, which will help you to control the flow of magic through your body, much the same as the shaolin monks control their chi. And no, Hermione, magic and chi are not the same thing. Don't ask me what the difference is, as I'm not exactly sure myself, but there is one. All I know is the focusing magic in different parts of your body allows for different feats than focusing your chi.

"We'll start with the most basic of basics, and later I'll show you how to apply these methods to the magic inside of you. Hermione, I'll send you a book that should help you," he said.

"But first, a demonstration of what these lessons will allow you to do," he turned to Sirius, motioning for him to begin.

"Let me first state that with magic, tai chi is more of a visual aid than anything else," he said, then held up hands that ended in rather wicked looking claws, then his face elongated into a vaguely canine muzzle--more like a boxer than a "grim"--and with a tangible burst of magic, he was suddenly a dog-man standing before them in a kilt. "Once you understand that," the half man-half dog growled, "anything is possible."

"There is one more neat trick I'd like to show you," James said, holding up a fistby his face, as if to shake it at them all, then snapping his arm straight and opening his fist, in fingers curled to resemble claws, drawing a gasp from Hermione.

It wasn't the motion that startled them. Rather, it was the ball of purple flame hovering less than half an inch above James's hand. He held it like that for a few seconds then clenched his fist, extinguishing the flame. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he said, "There's not much practical use to that, other than the fact that it is one of the few tricks that impresses even wizards. Also, it's really, _really_ difficult to ignite such a fire, much less maintain one."

Sirius returned to human form. "Also," he said, "you can only affect objects within your aura, though it is easiest with direct, skin-to-skin, contact."

James took over "There are various ways to enact the first change. Some by wandwork, some by meditation, and some by sheer force of will. We'll be teaching the latter two, as the first one requires skills currently beyond you ability. I will warn you, that this will challenge you in ways that you've never been challenged before. And furthermore, upon your first change, your mind will be little more than bestial instinct. So we have this, " he waved his wand, and a cage large enough for a small horse--really a cell or stable--appeared in one corner.

"You know, this would be so much easier if two of you weren't turning into vicious predators," Sirius said.

James turned to Matt. "Step into the cell."

"What?" Matt choked. He didn't know if it was some kind of joke, or if he was serious.

"I've got a feeling you may be ready to at least attempt it today. Harry told me about the incident with the Malfoy kid on the train in January. It shows you have some aptitude for focusing your magic," James said.

Matt shrugged. "I guess I'll give it a try," he said as he stepped into the cage.

"Now, every one who becomes animagus must first take a potion to reveal what form they'll take, which you've already done," James said. "The purposes of this are twofold. One, it tells you what you will become, and two; it leaves an impression of the animal you are to become. This impression is often referred to as your 'beast.' It contains many of your basest, most violent, instincts, and in most circumstances this allows an animagus to maintain his or her composure much better than they normally would. However, in situations invoking the fight or flight reflex, the beast rises up, and can sometimes take over. You will gradually gain better control over it, and in a year or two it won't be a problem."

"Okay...but what does this have to do with changing forms?" Matt asked.

"I was just getting to that. I want to picture the environment you saw when you took the potion--the smell of the air, any sounds you may have heard aside from your animal form," James said.

"Okay, I've got it," Matt said a minute later. He could already feel the beast rising, feel the sensation of fur tickling the inside of his ribcage.

"Before we go any further, I must warn you: once you change, you will be stuck in the form until you are exhausted and pass out. Once you have slept, you will be able to regain control enough to shift back," he paused, waiting for Matt to respond. All he got was a slight nod. "I would recommend that you wait until you've fully regained control before you shift back. That way you don't have to worry about possibility of automatically shifting back to your animal form the instant you return to human form.

"Do you still have the image in your head?" James asked.

Matt nodded.

"Good. You may be able to feel your beast responding to the image. Now focus you magic inward, towards your beast, let your magic and your beast become one, then push it outward," James said. "To revert, pull your magic inward until you're completely human again, and slowly relax."

Matt did as he was told. As his power contracted on his beast, he felt its mind spark to life. He felt his magic and beast become one, and he pushed outward. It was like trying to drag a limb upstream. Slowly, very slowly, he could feel the hair on his arms thicken and grow longer, as the hair on his head retracted towards his scalp. His ears moved up the side of his skull and gained musculature they'd never had before. His whoop of triumph became a strangled cry as the pain hit, bowing his spine. His last conscious thought was, _I hope they locked the cage_, and then he knew no more.

--

Hermione fainted, and Harry wanted to look away, as his best friend screamed in agony, his body almost unrecognizable. The door to the basement flew open, and Lily Potter came barreling down the steps, wand out, followed closely by Cynthia Black.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, the screams of agony were replaced by the screaming of a full-grown cougar. James dad yelled over the din, "Everything's under control down here."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked, eyeing the cougar as it caught it's breath and began slamming itself against the bars as hard as it could.

"Positive. So how is Andrew?" he asked, referring to Harry's baby brother, born almost three weeks ago.

"He's doing fine, but the screaming woke him up," Lily said.

"Oh, right. Sorry," Sirius said as he cast a silencing spell on Matt.

Shortly after the two women went back upstairs, Hermione came to. As she watched the majestic cat pace the cage, occasionally slamming itself against the bars, she asked, "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah, when he shifts back he'll be healed. One of the advantages to being an animagus is the ability to heal almost anything, provided you have enough strength to shift."

An hour after he shifted into a cougar, Matt passed out. Two hours after that, he regained consciousness. Almost half an hour later, he shifted back. This time, instead of the obviously painful transition of earlier, it was smooth, almost graceful.

He spent the next minute mouthing swear words, a pained look on his face. It wasn't until he started flailing his arms wildly that they remembered the silencing charm

"--oes it hurt like that every time?" he was saying as the silencing charm was lifted.

"No, it only hurts the first time," James said.

"Will I be more in control next time I shift?" Matt asked.

"Yes, you'll be able to maintain control next time. The first change is when your conscious mind makes peace with your beast."

"One more thing. Every animagus has at least one physical trait or ability of their animal form carry over to their human form," Sirius said. "Prongs can run faster than any normal human, I have an enhanced sense of smell, and Professor McGonagall has that hyper-intense stare. So be careful around any known sources of strong smells or loud noises."

Matt and Hermione said their goodbyes and headed to the Robertson house, James said he'd get the forms for registering as an Animagus to him soon.

"You know, your animagus form had blue-green eyes, just like you," Hermione said as they crossed the drainage culvert running through the fields situated between the Robertson and Potter houses.

"Doesn't surprise me," Matt said. "From what I've read, it's rather rare for animagus forms to have eye color different from the person's normal eye color."

Hermione must have shown her surprise, because he turned to her, and she experienced the familiar, yet still uncomfortable, sensation of having Matt gaze into her soul, though she knew he only meant to look her in the eyes. "You're not the only one who reads a lot, you know."

They walked a little further in silence. "I just realized that I can't hear your footsteps," Hermione said.

"So?" Matt said.

"_So?_ You're wearing steel-toed boots, and we're walking on a gravel road! Your footsteps should be deafening!" she exclaimed.

"Hmm. I guess you're right. Must be something I've learned from my beast." At that, he looked around, and shifted into a cougar and ran the rest of the way home.

"Show off," Hermione muttered into the night.

--

The days passed; Hermione left on the fifth of July; by mid-August Matt had managed to change his vocal chords alone, though the effect was made less dramatic by his human mouth. Other than that, the best he could do was make his fingernails slightly pointed, and that was done with a nail clipper. Harry had made no progress at all, beyond touching his beast through meditation.

So it was that on the seventeenth of August, Harry and Matt were to be found, creeping through the nearby woods. They had discovered a group of teenagers getting drunk on the banks of the creek running through said woods, and were currently waiting for the perfect moment to execute their hastily laid out plan.

As they watched, one girl, so drunk she could barely remain upright, staggered away from the group muttering, in heavily slurred speech, "I...I...I gotsh to go and, and, an'...an', an' ta-take a pissh. Yesh, I gotsh to take a pissh."

"So go already!" another, obviously more sober, teen shouted at her.

As the girl staggered off into the undergrowth, Matt shifted into his animagus form and stalked after her. He found her, squatting in a stand of poison oak, pants around her knees. He padded up to her silently, until he was standing next to her. He then proceeded to rub his furry cheek against her hip while purring loudly.

"Aww, kitty," the highly inebriated teen slurred, somewhere between an excited squeal and a contented sigh, as she stroked his spine, and Matt was no longer sure he could stop purring even if he wanted to.

The drunk girl, deciding she was done, grabbed a few leaves from the small tree she was squatting over, thoroughly wiped herself off between her legs, and staggered back to her friends, apparently oblivious to her jean shorts now wrapped around her left ankle. "C'mo' kitty," she slurred at Matt, motioning for the shrub on her other side to follow her.

"We-e migh' have sho-shomeshing for you i' th' c-coo-cooler," she stuttered.

As they approached the circle of drunken teen revelers Matt noticed that his 'guide' wasn't the only one missing article's of clothing, though the missing clothing of choice was definitely pants. There was one heavyset girl near the center of the group that appeared to be topless, though. Matt did his best not to look to closely at her.

"Hey, he-hey look eve-everybo-body! I found an ador-ado-adorab-cute stray kitty!" she hiccupped.

The sober teen that shouted at her earlier--sober being a relative turn--blinked at Matt for almost five seconds, before saying in a calm, soothing voice, "Slowly, Holly, get away from that thing."

"W-w-why?" she slurred.

"Because that's no 'kitty.' That's a fuckin' cougar," the boy responded, now well and truly sober. _Fear will do that to you_, Matt mused to himself.

The girl--Holly--looked down at Matt as if seeing him for the first time. He saw fear blossom on her face. He opened his massive feline jaws wide as he let out the unmistakable, blood-curdling scream of a mountain lion. At that same instant she shrieked and ran. Matt pounced, catching her pants with his claws, tripping her. She leapt up, not seeming to notice the loss of her jean shorts and underwear.

Had anyone bothered to look back they would have seen him shaking them the way a terrier might shake a rat.

--

Harry and Matt were still laughing about it when they exited the woods. After they were sure the teens were gone, they had gathered up the forgotten clothes and Matt had run each article up a different tree, as high as he dared to go. Two quick- thinking--if not terribly bright--boys had grabbed the cooler in the mad dash to escape the mountain lion.

Matt walked with Harry all the way to the Potter house, even though it meant that he would have to backtrack to get home. He didn't think his mother would find the story very funny, and if he went home grinning like he was, his mother would worm the story out of him anyway. At least James Potter would appreciate the story.

As expected, they were intercepted as soon as they entered the house. Lily Potter took one look at their faces, and yelled, "James, _your son_ and his friend have been up to some major mischief. You might want to talk to him." Despite the exasperated tone in her voice, Matt knew she would wait just out of view in the kitchen, listening intently to the antics.

James Potter and his best friend Sirius Black listened patiently to the story, laughing uproariously through most of it, especially the part where the drunk girl was squatting in the poison oak and using it as toilet paper, at which point Sirius commented, "She's gonna be walking funny for a while." Matt could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath from the direction of the kitchen at that point in the narrative.

After they finished their story, Matt returned home, where he finished packing for the flight to England the next day. It turned out that Malfoy had not succeeded in getting Matt expelled, and in fact, according to a letter of apology included with his Hogwarts letter, Lucius Malfoy was down to his last strike as far as the Hogwarts board of governors was concerned.

As Matt drifted off to sleep that night, He wondered what the next year had in store for him.

--

A/N: The whole 'beast' deal was inspired by the _Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter_ series of novels. I highly recommend them, if you haven't already read them. They've got everything--blood, guts, gore, magic, humor, sex, romance, lycanthropes, and, of course, vampires.

It may be a while before I get the next chapter up as I have four more prophecies to write.

The idea for how to write the change came to me midday a few days ago, and I had to get it down before I completely forgot.

The mentioned prophecy was by Nostradamus because the radio station I've been listening to was really pushing the new Judas Priest album about the life of Nostradamus at the time I was writing it. It was originally just going to be an ancient prophecy nearly lost to the sands of time.

Matt changed before Harry, not because he's more powerful, but because he just has a different set of natural talents. In terms of potency, Harry is at least half again as powerful as Matt, with Hermione coming somewhere in between.

Finally,

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll try to get back to you. Please try to be constructive with your reviews, though, if you do review.


	12. The Return

Disclaimer: A rooster is sitting on top of a house. If it lays an egg, what side will it fall on?

**Chapter 12: The Return**

Upon reaching London Harry, Matt, and James--who had shaved his head bald and was wearing prescription sunglasses and a St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap--were met by Clive Granger at the terminal. He showed them to his car--a brand new S Class--and he drove back to Surrey.

"So what happened the Jag?" James asked.

"It was a piece of crap. It was in the repair shop once a week. Candy traded it in for a Bimmer," Clive said.

"Dad _told_ you Jaguar's were crap," Matt said from the back seat.

"I believed him, but Candy had her heart set on the Jag, and nothing I said could convince her otherwise," Clive replied.

"So this is _your_ car, then?" James asked.

"Is it _that_ obvious?" Clive replied sarcastically.

It was nearly midnight local time when they reached the Granger house. The three Americans went to sleep almost immediately, with the help of a sleeping potion James had brought with him from home.

The next morning Hermione crept into the room Harry and Matt were sleeping in, intending to give them both a rude awakening. She held a smoke alarm to Matt's ear, and just as she prepared to hit the 'test' button, Matt grabbed her wrist, causing her to scream in surprise.

"Two things you should know. One, I'm a light sleeper lately, and two, I have much better hearing than you," he said as he released her wrist. "Oh, and the floorboard in front of the door is squeaky."

He gave a very cat-like yawn and stretched languorously. "So, what's on the itinerary today?" he asked, shaking his shoulder length reddish blonde hair out of his face.

"Well, today we're meeting the Weasleys in Diagon Alley to shop for school supplies," Hermione said. "So get up and get dressed. It's nearly nine o'clock and we're supposed to meet them before lunch.

An hour later Harry and Matt were dressed and ready to go. "Please tell me you're not wearing that out in public," Candace Granger said the minute Matt walked into the kitchen. He was wearing one of his black 'muscle shirts,' faded blue jeans with large holes in the knees, and a denim vest that had once been a jacket until Matt had cut the sleeves off.

"Yeah, so?" Matt replied; apparently unaware of how stupid everyone thought he looked.

Candace Granger just shook her head and said, "At least leave the vest behind today."

"All right, Aunt Candy," Matt said.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? The only people allowed to call me that are your mother and my husband," she said wearily.

Yes, Aunt Candace," Matt said. He went back up to the room he was staying in, and in a few minutes came down sans vest, wearing a better fitting t-shirt instead of his 'muscle shirt.'

"That's...better," she said in a tone making it obvious she would prefer he wore a different pair of trousers.

The trip to the Leaky Cauldron was uneventful, and luckily no one recognized James once they got there.

They sat around for about half an hour before the fireplace erupted in emerald flames the height of a man, and seven people--one man, one woman, four boys and one girl, all with red hair--spilled out one at a time. The girl, upon seeing Harry and Matt, ducked behind her mother. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hey look, Harry, you've got your first hanger-on," Matt laughed.

"Hardly. She hasn't shut up about you since I got back from Hogwarts, Matt," Ron said as he joined them at their table. Matt turned pale.

Ron managed to keep a straight face for about ten seconds before he lost it. "Just kidding, mate. It's Harry she's been fawning over. A real life celebrity and all that."

"If she's fawning over me because I'm the so-called--what's that term the tabloids use? Boy-Who-Lived, isn't it?" James nodded. "Anyway, as I was saying, if she's fawning over me because I'm the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, then I definitely don't want it. I'd prefer to be worshiped for my own achievements, like my Quidditch skills, or my striking good looks." Matt just laughed at him.

"Speaking of tabloids," Ron said, "did you hear that there was an American kid that registered as an animagus this summer? I heard that it was someone our age. Imagine that, the youngest person ever to achieve an animagus transformation. I didn't believe it at first considering that _The Quibbler_ was the first to print the story, but the _Prophet_ reported the same thing a couple of days later, so I'm not sure if it's real or not. What do you think about it?"

Matt and Harry exchanged a surprised look. "I'm surprised," Matt said.

"Surprised about what? The fact that the person is our age, or they're the youngest ever?"

"That the British media even picked up on that. You'd think that they'd be afraid to tell the blood-purity obsessed public that not only was the youngest ever Animagus an American, but also a muggleborn." Harry said.

"The reports didn't say anything about the kid's heritage, though." Ron protested. "So how would you know about that?"

Matt was perfectly still for a few seconds. Then they heard it. From somewhere nearby a low, inhuman growl was emanating. Ron looked around for the source, but didn't see anything. He looked at Matt and started to ask him if he heard anything, and realized he was the source of the sound. His eyes widened as his eyebrows ran for the cover of his hairline. "Y-y-you!?" Ron half asked, half shouted.

Matt nodded.

"What form?" Ron asked quietly.

"First you've got to promise not to tell," Matt said. When Ron took a magical oath not to tell anybody, Matt murmured, "Cougar," and that was it. Ron apparently knew him well enough not to push, as he let it go.

After lunch, the group went to Gringotts. They each went their separate ways to their vaults, then met back up in the lobby. They split up, James, Mr. Weasley, and Clive going to a very crowded Flourish and Blott's get books, and the rest stuck together to get the rest of the necessary supplies. Having heard Ron complain about being poor on multiple occasions the previous year, Matt and Harry had withdrawn extra money from their vaults, and throughout the day they found various excuses to pay for the supplies Mrs. Weasley was purchasing.

When she confronted them about it, Matt shrugged and said, "You know what they say, you can't take it with you."

"But what would your parents say, knowing you wasted your mon--" she started to say but was interrupted.

"With all due respect, ma'am, they wouldn't call this a waste. They'd be proud of me for doing the right thing. I think they'd be ashamed of me if I didn't at least try to help the less fortunate--no offense," Matt said, staring at his shoes. He really had to work hard to keep from making eye contact in a place as crowded as Diagon Alley.

Realizing she was getting nowhere with Matt, Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry. "Surely your dad would want you to spend wisely--" she was interrupted again, this time by the arrival of the men.

"--riously, James, I can pay you back for the books!" Mr. Weasley was pleading.

"I already told you what you could do with your money," James said, sounding slightly irritated.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing--his own dad refusing to help someone in need!

"What's going on here?" Molly asked as the men came into view.

"It's not what it sounds like," Clive said as they started back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Oh, really?" Harry asked bitterly. "It sure _sounds_ like my father's being a miserly idiot."

"That's not it at all," James said. "I paid for all the books, and--"

"He refuses to let me pay for the books for my children," Mr. Weasley said, just this side of bitter. "Acting like my money's not good enough," he muttered.

"Arthur, consider it a repayment for the guidance you gave me after my family was killed by Death Eaters. You helped me through a bad time in my life, and this is how I choose to thank you," James said.

"I-I," Mr. Weasley began, "er, uh, thanks."

--

The next two weeks passed quickly. On the night before they left for Hogwarts, James received a note carried by Cardinal Fang, Sirius's owl. He called Harry, Hermione, and Matt to the room he was staying in. "Remember how I told you about the prophecies pertaining the Gray Lord?" they nodded. "Well, Sirius just sent me a letter with the contents of the prophecies." He handed them the sheet of parchment with the prophecies written on it.

They took it and went to the room Matt and Harry were staying in. There were four prophecies written on it, the most of which, the one about the Darkness, was made in 1921.

The first one, reputedly made by Nostradamus, was simple, but gave them no real information, except that the Gray Lord would not be from wherever the Darkness rose.

_The Darkness will envelope the Great Isle_

_And hope will seem lost_

_When from across the sea _

_The Gray Lord shall rise_

_And gather about himself _

_The Forces of Twilight_

The next one was about the Darkness. Just like the Nostradamus prophecy, there was no useful information contained with in it.

_The Darkness comes_

_Old hatreds become new_

_Old wounds are reopened_

_Old evils return_

_Old heroes fall_

_And if The Darkness is not stopped_

_The world will burn for a thousand years_

The third one was about the Gray Lord, and Hermione found it particularly interesting.

_Possessed of uncommon ability_

_Branded as Nemesis_

_The reluctant general will assume _

_The mantle of Lord_

_And all those opposed to the Darkness_

_Shall follow him into battle_

"See there, the second line?" Hermione asked after she finished reading the third prophecy.

"Not sure what you mean," Matt grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry touch his forehead.

"No way!" Harry gasped.

"You told me once that you asked your parents why Voldemort wanted to kill you as a baby," Hermione said. "You said that they told you that they said a prophecy was made about the one who would defeat Voldemort. You said that the prophecy included the phrase 'He will mark him as his equal.' It might mean that he will stop at nothing to ki-eliminate you, making you his nemesis."

"You might be right. I hope to god you're wrong, though," Harry said. Hermione and Matt nodded their agreement.

The last prophecy, made only days after Nostradamus made the first one, was about the Forces of Twilight.

_The Darkness will rise_

_And with it the Gray Lord_

_But he will not be alone_

_For around his banner_

_The Forces of Twilight shall rally. _

_The Reader, His enforcer, confidant, and advisor;_

_The Scholar, His light and His conscience;_

_The Seer, His guide through the mists of the future;_

_The White Witch, His first convert, she will bring more;_

_The Traitor, His strategist, he will betray his master;_

_The Jester, His most versatile companion, he will be underestimated by all_

"Interesting," Hermione muttered. "This all but settles it, Harry. You're the Gray Lord. Or rather will be. The Reader is obviously Matt, and I'm obviously the Scholar, but I'm not sure what it means about 'His light and His conscience,'" Hermione said.

"It's a metaphor," Matt said, making yet another connection.

"A metaphor? For what?" Hermione asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so let's leave it at that," Matt mumbled, making it obvious that was determined not to answer the question.

"Let's see... the Seer is obviously Luna," Hermione said. "What puzzles me is the last three. The White Witch, the Traitor, and the Jester."

"We'll just have to wait and find out," Harry said.

They stayed up a little bit longer before going to bed, but none of them slept very much that night.

The morning was less hectic than the year previous, allowing the group to reach Platform 9 3/4 with an hour to spare. The trio found a compartment near the middle of the train, facing away from the platform and settled in. Ten minutes before the train was scheduled to leave, the door opened on the compartment now containing Luna Lovegood and Ron Weasley in addition to Harry, Matt, and Hermione.

"Is there room in this compartment?" a shy female's voice said.

Harry said, "Sure."

Matt looked up, careful not to make eye contact, as Harry said this. The source of the voice was a pale girl with pale blond hair. After watching her with her trunk for a few seconds, Matt, who was closest, stood and helped her to get it stowed away in the overhead rack.

As everyone sat back down the girl introduced herself as Lucy, saying that she was glad that she didn't have to sit with her big brother and his friends.

"My name is Harry Potter, these are my best friends, Matt Robertson and Hermione Granger," he indicated first Matt, then Hermione, "that's Luna Lovegood," he indicated the girl now hidden behind a copy of _The Quibbler_--the one that reported about Matt registering as an animagus, even if it didn't mention him by name--"and that's Ron Weasley," Harry pointed at the boy absentmindedly stroking a new white rat named Pinky that Matt had bought for him two weeks ago.

The girl turned to Matt and said, "Are you the same Matt Robertson my brother's always complaining about?"

"That depends. Who's your big brother?" Matt asked.

"I am," a familiar, if unwelcome voice issued from the still open compartment door. Draco Malfoy sneered at all the inhabitants of the compartment before turning to the girl and saying, "Come, Lucilla. Father told me to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't end up sitting with the riff-raff," he shook his head "I leave you alone while I go to the loo, and you wander off to sit with _this_ filth, " he gave everyone another sneer. "I managed to get a seat reserved for you in a compartment near my own, so get your stuff and come with me."

Lucy stayed put. "I'm not going anywhere. Father doesn't care about me, all he cares about is whether or not I embarrass him," she said.

Draco made a grab for her wrist, but before his hand had closed even half the distance, Matt had his pale wrist in a vice-like grip--one much stronger than it was in January. "You heard the girl, Tinkerbell," Matt said, realizing as he said it that Stay-Puft and Michelin were not flanking the boy. "Now I suggest you leave before I have to hurt you," Draco's pale face showed plainly that Matt was already doing so. Matt gave Draco's wrist an extra hard squeeze before releasing it. "And don't even think about going for your wand," Matt added as Draco's hand twitched towards his pocket.

"I'm not leaving without my sister," Draco said defiantly.

"She's not going if she doesn't want to, Tinkerbell."

Matt half turned to look at Lucy, "Do you--I told you not to do that, Tinkerbell," Matt said as he grabbed Draco's arm and twisted until he heard a pop followed immediately by a scream. "Now, _as I was saying_ before I was so rudely interrupted, do you want to go with him, Lucy?" Matt said, still holding Draco's wrist.

"No, I don't. If I wanted to sit with you, Draco, I wouldn't have snuck off," Lucy sneered at him.

"There you have it, Tinkerbell, the lady does not want to go with you," Matt popped the shoulder back into joint, eliciting another scream, "so fuck off!" As Draco staggered out of the compartment, Matt shut the door.

"So you're a Malfoy, huh?" Harry said to Lucy, making it a question.

"Yes, Lucilla Porcia Malfoy, at your service--Lucy for short. So," Her voice became a scared whisper, "are you gonna kick me out of the compartment now?"

"Why would we do that?" Hermione asked.

"Because I'm a Malfoy?" Lucy asked weakly.

"Matt, do your thing," Harry said.

"What's he mean by that" Lucy started to ask Matt, though the last word was choked out amidst a gasp of surprise. Matt, too, drew in a surprised breath. Her soul was nearly as flawless as her skin, marred only by sadness from being ignored. But that was not what surprised him. He experienced the sensation of his own soul being laid bare before this girl's deep blue eyes, but what really surprised him was that he was able to see his own soul as well, and the two slotted together like a puzzle, then the vision disappeared like clouds parting after a rainstorm. _That was weird_, he thought to himself, as he stared at his shoes, picking at the frayed edges of the holes in the knees of his blue jeans

"Did you say something?" Lucy asked Matt.

"No," Matt grunted, looking up at her.

"I could have sworn I heard something," Lucy said, her lips not moving.

"Did _you_ just say something?" Matt asked carefully.

Lucy frowned, "No, why?"

_Can you hear this?_ Matt thought.

"Yes," Lucy said out loud. Her jaw dropped. _His lips didn't move!_ Matt heard in his head.

_Neither did yours just now,_ Matt countered in his head.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"Somehow, I've ended up sharing a mind with Malfoy's eleven year old sister, I think," Matt said softly.

"I'll have you know that today's my twelfth birthday," Lucy said.

"Well, happy birthday. I hope you like the present I got you!" Matt exclaimed bitterly

"Hate it. You _did_ keep the receipt, right?" Lucy shot back sarcastically, and Matt couldn't help but grin.

"If you're done with your witty repartee, Matt, perhaps you could tell us what you think about her?" Hermione said.

Matt described everything he saw in great detail. The rest seemed to accept her at this, though Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face.

"How did you see that, and why did I see the same thing?" Lucy asked impatiently.

"I saw it because I'm a soul reader. I don't know why you saw it," Matt muttered.

"A what?" Lucilla asked.

"A soul reader. I can look into a person's eyes and see their soul," Matt said. "It's a very rare ability."

"How come I've never heard of it?" Lucilla asked.

"It has never shown up in a pureblood. Your father, being a blood-purist, would be loath to even admit it's existence, much less teach about it--especially since there's an exceedingly small chance of you ever actually meeting one." Harry said.

As the train hurtled through the English countryside on it's way to the Scottish highlands and Hogwarts, the Gryffindor second years got to know Lucy, and Lucy got to know them. Several times during the afternoon Matt caught Lucy staring at him--though Lucy caught him staring at her just as often. Other than that, the train ride was quite boring.

--

"Malfoy, Lucilla," The stern woman--Professor McGonagall, the big man had called her--said.

Lucy nervously stepped up to the rickety stool. She put on the hat, and it stopped just shy of her shoulders. She jerked when she heard the voice in her head say, "Ah, another Malfoy, but not just any Malfoy. I sense cunning, yes, but where is the ambition? No, you aren't cut out for Slytherin. What have we here? You're already bonded to your soul mate? Very rare for one so young. Ah, that explains it." The hat paused, seemingly waiting for her to ask what it meant.

She took the bait. "What explains it?"

"The soul reader. He's the one. But we need to get back to the business at hand. Let's see, good mind, just not good enough for Ravenclaw. Definitely not suited for Hufflepuff. But courage and valor, definitely got plenty of that. Good thing too, because it was only ever going to be...GRYFFINDOR!"

As she walked over to the Gryffindor table she pondered what the Hat had meant when it said 'The soul reader. He's the one.' She only vaguely noticed that the entire Slytherin table was booing and hissing, while Gryffindor was making no noise at all.

--

Meanwhile, Matt, who had quickly figured out how to deaden his end of the link--or whatever it was called--managed to catch the whole conversation without sending his thoughts. _Of course!_ he thought, mentally kicking himself for not seeing it earlier. _The puzzle piece thing--two parts of one whole. I guess the shtick about married couples being joined into one being isn't just a metaphor, after all._ He shook his head.

By the time Lucy sat down across from him, his thoughts were drowned out amidst the drone of Lucy's thoughts. _Your thoughts are distracting me, Lucy,_ Matt thought in her direction, lowering his shields just long enough to send the thought.

_It's not like I can control it!_ Lucy snapped in her mind. In response Matt tried to send the memories of how he blocked his mind off, using a process similar to how he blocked his soul reading ability. He spent the rest of the sorting, all of the meal, and the beginning of Dumbledore's speech helping her figure it out. It wasn't until Harry did a spit-take with his pumpkin juice that Matt looked up noticing the world around him again.

"What happened?" Matt asked.

"In case you didn't hear, Dumbledore hired Gilderoy Lockhart as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Harry said.

"He's a bit of a fairy, but if even half the books are true, then he can't be all _that_ bad of a teacher," Matt commented.

"He's also a self important windbag who's willing to put his face on anything and everything," Ron added.

"Sooo...that makes him the magical version of Gene Simmons, then?" Matt added.

Harry thought about this for a second. "Basically," he said.

As everyone was filing out of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall came up behind Matt, Harry, and Hermione. "I'd like to see you in my office, Mr. Robertson," she said before walking off. Matt looked at Harry, who shrugged and then he trudged off after the head of Gryffindor House.

Upon reaching her office, Matt was ushered in. He never felt comfortable in a teacher's office--though Professor McGonagall's office was undoubtedly more welcoming than Professor Snape's.

"I recently received a letter from the U.S.D.M.C.--" she began before Matt interrupted her.

"The what?" Matt asked.

"The United States Department of Magical Concerns, Mr. Robertson," she clarified. "They regulate the magical world on U.S. soil. My point is that they sent a letter to Hogwarts informing the school of your recent achievement. Congratulations are in order, as well as twenty points for Gryffindor. If I may ask though, how did you do it? You've only had a year's worth of Transfiguration training, and meditation takes months, sometimes years, to achieve the transformation, and it still requires multiple years of Transfiguration training."

"I just, kinda, merged my magic with my beast and forced it outward ma'am," Matt mumbled.

"You do know that the ability to enact the first change 'by force of will' as that method is often referred to, is--was--nothing more than theory, right?" The transfiguration professor said.

"No, I didn't ma'am," Matt said.

"It did not say anything about the form in the letter. If I may ask, can I see it?" The professor asked.

Instead of answering, Matt closed is eyes and seemed to melt into the shape of a very large mountain lion. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail he was almost nine feet long.

"Impressive," Professor McGonagall said, writing notes on a piece of parchment as Matt paced around the small office. _Jotting down the distinctive markings, I guess_ Matt thought. Matt screamed once then returned to human form.

"So what were the distinctive markings, Professor? I've never seen them myself," Matt asked.

"Just a slightly rusty tinge to the head and neck, and the eyes. That's a distinctive enough shade in humans, much less in wild animals." The professor smiled before continuing, "Maybe the grace afforded by your animal form will help you with your wandwork."

"Yeah," Matt grunted as he left, "maybe."

_I wonder what the password is_, Matt thought as he approached the Fat Lady.

_Walden_, came the response in his head.

_How long have I been broadcasting?_ Matt asked to the voice of Lucy in his head.

_You haven't. That's the first time I heard you since dinner_, the girl responded.

_You still up?_ Matt asked.

_No, I was asleep until you started babbling in my head_, was the exhausted reply.

_Sleep well, your gonna have one hell of a day tomorrow_, Matt said as he reached the dorm he shared with the other Gryffindor second years. He stayed up long enough to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth before collapsing into bed.

It had been a long day.

--

A/N: It's done. I didn't think I'd get this done so quickly, but after getting stuck at the end of the Diagon Alley scene; I took a break to write the four prophecies whereupon inspiration struck. Overall, it's a pretty weak chapter, in my opinion, but it contains quite a bit of important story related information.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just leave a review, and I'll get back to you.


	13. That First Step is a Doozie

Disclaimer: Some people put 2 and 2 together and get 4. Others put 2 and 2 together and get 22. If you are a member of this second group, I assure you, I did not create the Harry Potter universe, or the characters there-in--except for the Robertsons and Lucy, who appear only in my story--and therefore make no money off of what I write. If you are a member of the first group, you probably assume this to begin with.

A/N: The implication is that not everybody screamed when they heard the music--it was mainly the younger students.

**Chapter 13: That First Step's a Doozie**

The first day of class began with a scream.

Rather, it would be more precise to say that it began with 256 screams, and five belly laughs.

The minute Matt tapped the CD player with his wand, the walls shook with the untamed fury of Sepultura's "Arise." Rumors spread later that half the faculty ducked for cover, the other half curling in the fetal position, before realizing that it was supposed to be music.

"Excellent find, mate," Fred exclaimed as the screams echoed down the spiral staircases and into the Gryffindor common room.

George nodded. "Yeah, we've never caused--"

"--this much mayhem--" Fred interrupted.

"--before!" they finished in unison

"Probably never will," George said, mock sorrowful.

"Never hurts to try though," Fred added cheerfully as he and George headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As Harry, Matt, and Hermione walked to the Great Hall themselves, the music was almost drowned out by the wailings of the paintings. One of the suits of armor appeared to have impaled itself on its own sword, for some reason.

They reached the Great Hall without further incident. The first thing Matt did upon sitting down was grab the pitcher of orange juice and pour himself a goblet of it. Unfortunately, all that came out was a viscous yellow liquid--scrambled eggs, extra, _extra_ runny. He switched cups with the plate next to him and found a pitcher containing an actual drinkable liquid before settling down to eat, saying, "I think that's the last time we wake the school with death metal."

Ten minutes later, a bleary-eyed Ron staggered in and sat at his usual place to Matt's right. Upon seeing the full goblet, he turned to Matt, muttered, "Thanks, mate," and drained the goblet in one gulp.

When Matt looked up, he noticed the goblet with the raw egg had been moved, and a little dribble was running down the side where it had spilled from the sides of Ron's mouth. "You didn't just drink that did y--" he was cut off by the sound of retching and the splattering of liquid on the stone floor behind him.

"Clean-up on aisle three!" Harry exclaimed dryly.

Professor McGonagall vanished the vomit mid-stride as she walked up to her seat at the staff table.

Five minutes later Lucy trudged unto the Great Hall, followed closely by Ginny Weasley. Matt thought the Weasley girl was rather odd, but her soul was pure--as pure as anyone's soul could be, anyway, despite being tinged with longing that she knew would never be fulfilled--and, oddly enough, a very near match to Harry's. If Matt had never seen Hermione's soul, he could quite possibly have mistaken this girl's soul for a perfect match, it was so close. He wondered if this girl actually had a soul mate, or if she would go through her life pining for the thing that could not be, or settling for one who could never complete her. He surmised that if the events of twelve years ago--or even Halloween 1981--had gone differently, things would be very different indeed.

He was shaken from his musings by Lucy plopping down next to him, closer than someone you just met the day before would normally sit. For a split second Matt was uncomfortable, until he remembered what the Sorting Hat had told Lucy last night and he allowed himself to relax, though he wondered if the girl had figured it out yet.

He noticed her reaching for the pitcher containing the egg. He gently laid a hand on her arm. _You don't want to drink that_, he sent.

"Why?" she asked out loud.

"Egg," he grunted, sending her the memory of pouring the goblet of raw egg.

She shuddered. "That's disgusting."

"Could you _please_ not do that?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"What are you talking about?" Lucy asked.

"The mind-to-mind thing. It's very annoying to hear half a conversation," Matt's cousin said.

_We need to talk later_, Lucy sent.

"What about?" Matt said to Lucy before giving Hermione a mischievous grin. Hermione, in return shook her fist threateningly at him.

_Quit antagonizing her_, Lucy said. _And you know _exactly_ what about._

Just then the doors to the Great Hall opened and a figure, dressed all in black with white-blond hair and gray eyes swept into the Great Hall.

_Oh, no_, Lucy thought, her shields slipping, _not now!_

_Who is that?_ Matt sent.

_Father_, she returned, and that one word explained volumes. On the train yesterday Lucy had explained that no Malfoy had ever been in any Hogwarts house but Slytherin, something that certain members of the family were all too proud to point out, her father among them.

The man strode up to the headmaster's chair and exchanged a hushed, but intense, conversation. Finally, seeming to tire of the conversation, the man drew himself to his full, considerable height and said clearly, at a volume that everyone in the hall could hear, "I demand that my daughter be resorted immediately!"

"As I was explaining, Mr. Malfoy, normally such a request would be granted," Dumbledore said tiredly. "Unfortunately the Sorting Hat made itself very clear when it said that it _couldn't_--not wouldn't, Lucius, _couldn't_--resort her, citing traditions dating back to the founding of Hogwarts; traditions so deeply ingrained into its consciousness that to force a resorting would physically destroy the hat, as the magic holding it together would dissipate and allow the hat to crumble as it would have years ago, had the very same magicks that allow it to sort students into the different houses not also sustained the physical structure of the hat itself."

"I will not have my daughter consorting with filth," Mr. Malfoy shouted.

"There's nothing that can be done about it now, Lucius. If indeed there was ever _anything_ you could have done. No one knows the nature of souls, Lucius," the headmaster said cryptically. "_No one_," he added, though it was emphasized oddly, in Matt's opinion, as if Dumbledore was referring to a very specific individual when he said it, though he didn't want to identify the person. "And may I remind you, Lucius, that your position among the board of governors is already tenuous as it is. There is no need to make it worse with such poor choice of words. One almost gets the sense that you're prejudiced when you say that."

"You're wrong when you say there's nothing that can be done about it, Headmaster," Mr. Malfoy said, ignoring Dumbledore's warning about his language. He turned to Lucilla and said loud enough that anyone in the hall would be able to hear, "Don't bother coming home at Christmas--or summer either, for that matter--it will never be _your_ home again." With that he swept out of the Hall, past a stunned looking Draco Malfoy.

Lucy appeared to cheer up, but Matt could tell it was just a brave face. He could feel the sorrow rolling off her as Professor McGonagall came by with their schedules.

"Double History first thing! You gotta be kidding!" Harry exclaimed.

"Could be worse," Neville said from the other side of Ron. "It could be double potions," He shuddered as he said that. Matt wholeheartedly agreed.

The day passed quickly. As the second year Gryffindors filed out of the potions classroom--which still had the words "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here," written above the door--Matt was startled by Lucy's voice in his head. _Meet me in front of the first floor girl's toilet_, she sent. Matt had forgotten all about the link during a particularly rigorous Potions class, where the potion they'd brewed was required to be kept at a very high heat the whole time it was brewing.

_Why there?_ Matt replied, lowering his shields slightly.

_I heard one of the upper year girls talking about how no one uses it anymore_, Lucy answered._ Something about a ghost that never stops crying. It should give us enough privacy for what we need to talk about._

_I know a better place. Meet me on the fourth floor, south hallway_, Matt responded through the link

_But there aren't any doors in that corridor,_ Lucy responded, puzzled.

_Trust me,_ he returned.

He turned to his friends and said, "I'll catch you later," and strode off.

A moment later what she said had sunk in. _How do you know there aren't any doors on the south hallway?_

_I got lost on the way to the library earlier_, Lucy sent.

_Lost would be an understatement_, Matt responded.

Twenty minutes later, Matt rounded the corner where the west and south hallways met. Lucy was at the other end. He motioned her over to him as he searched for a specific portrait. By the time Lucy reached him, he was standing in front of a portrait with a bronze plaque next to it. The plaque read...

_Kelben "Blackstaff" Arundsen. 1306-1495 Notable as the second most powerful wizard in history after Merlin, Blackstaff is most famous for being the first to cross over into another plane of existence, which he did so in 1332. He wrote several tomes about his experiences in the demonic Abyss. Later in life, he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from 1357 until the day he died._

"Seasons in the Abyss," Matt said to the portrait.

"The Abyss remains closed," the portrait responded before swinging open.

Matt stepped in first, and after Lucy entered he closed the portal.

"What is this place?" Lucy asked, looking around. Two of the walls were lined by bookshelves, upon which were books written in various languages, many of them not pronounceable by human mouths. In one corner rested a cage, the floor of which was littered with bones. The bones were obviously not from anything native to this plane. Next to the cage, about four feet to the right, was an alchemical workbench, much of the equipment cracked or shattered. In the middle and slightly to the side, was a desk, oriented perpendicular to the wall where the doorway was located.

"This is Blackstaff's personal laboratory," Matt said.

Lucy's eyes widened. "How did you find it?"

"Even a blind sow finds an acorn now and then. Me, Harry and Hermione were exploring the castle one weekend last October, debating the artistic merits of Slayer albums. Hermione and Harry kept trying to convince me that 'Reign in Blood' was better than 'Seasons in the Abyss,' while I insisted that the reverse was true," He paused, taking a deep breath.

"Anyway, we were still debating when we passed the portrait. When the portrait opened we did the only logical thing--we scrambled in before it closed again. We looked around a little before we left, swearing not to tell anyone else," Matt said. He noticed her look of surprise, combined with worry. "Don't worry, it wasn't a wizard's oath, just a regular one."

"Good, I'd hate to be the reason you lost your magic," Lucy said.

"Anyway, what's on your mind?" Matt said, motioning for her to take a seat in a moldy old armchair, while he took a seat on a rickety looking stool

"Quite a bit, I assure you. I don't know where to begin," she moaned.

"Well, the beginning is usually the best place to start from," Matt said, grinning.

"Oh, shut up," Lucy said, though there was no anger in her words. "I guess it would be easiest to start with what I wanted to talk about before the whole deal with--"

"--breakfast," Matt said. "I mean, I like my eggs a little runny, but when you have to put them in a pitcher, that's just ridiculous!" Matt said, flashing her another grin.

"Yes, that's right, breakfast," Lucy said, giving Matt a halfhearted smile. "Anyway, what I wanted to talk about is the mind-to-mind communication we've developed. The Sorting Hat told me last night that I was already bonded to my soul mate. When I asked it what it meant, it said, 'The soul reader. He's the one.' I kept thinking about what it meant until I fell asleep. This morning, when I woke up, and I was the only one in the dorm not screaming, I experienced one of those moments of total clarity. I knew what the Hat meant. You and I, we're--"

"--soul mates," Matt said. "I figured it out loud last night. I heard what the Hat told you."

"Do you realize what this means?" Lucy asked.

"That we were destined to be together? That we can communicate without speaking?" Matt asked, somewhere between puzzled and amused.

"It means that according to magical traditions we're either married already, or every time we communicate mind-to-mind we're fornicating. It depends on the traditions of each magical administration. I just gave you a couple of examples; the first example is how it works in the United States, and the second is how it works in Britain," Lucy said. "I skipped lunch and looked it up in the library," she added upon seeing his unconcerned grin of amusement.

"Fortunately for us, neither of those apply to our situation," Matt said, catching on to what she was getting at. "Since we're from countries where traditions regarding soul mates differ, neither law applies to us." He suppressed a grin at her startled expression. "What? I ran across that information last year when I was reading everything I could find on souls. You wouldn't believe some of the traditions relating to soul mates that I've read. The early Ottomans would actually kill any bonded pair that wasn't married--even if they were betrothed."

"Why?" Lucy asked.

"Didn't your reading say anything about the common ways that soul mates bond?" Matt asked.

"No."

"Soul mates bond by exposing their soul's to each other. This is usually accomplished by the soul mates either telling each other their deepest, darkest secrets, or by them being...intimate," Matt said this last word very carefully.

"Intimate how? Romantic dinner? Cuddling?" Lucy asked.

"Biblical knowledge," Matt said.

"Oh," Lucy said, then blushed, "OH!"

There was silence for almost half of a minute. "But we didn't do any of that," Lucy said plaintively, her cheeks flaring again.

Matt nodded solemnly, just a quick bob of his head. "You're right, we didn't. But in my reading I did come across some mentions of soul readers, including accounts of them bonding with their soul mates the first time they made eye contact. There were no descriptions in any of the books of what a soul bond entails, and I initially thought that Luna was my soul mate, but towards the end of the school year I did find a passage describing soul bonds, and I knew I didn't have one."

He paused. "Funny how you can memorize the most obscure trivia and spout it at will when it is of no use, but the moment it becomes relevant, you can't even remember that you read it." He shook his head.

The silence stretched for nearly a minute. "Why did you think Luna was your soul mate?" Lucy asked, finally. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"The first time I met her she saw my soul even as I looked into hers. I dunno. Maybe she was just a close match, or maybe there was some other reason," he shrugged.

After another short silence, he snorted and said, "This is by far the most I've ever said in a single conversation, and to think I only met you yesterday," he chuckled again.

After yet another silence, Matt said, "So how are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet," she said.

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" Matt asked.

"Not really," Lucy said. "The only people who knew that I even existed were Mother, Father, and Draco. Oh, and Vincent Crabbe and his family, they knew."

"Why did they know?" Matt asked.

"Because I was betrothed to Vincent. I can't thank you enough for saving me from that fat goon," she said.

"I really had no control over it," Matt said.

He thought for a moment, then remembered something he'd been told over summer break. "Wasn't your mother a Black before she married your father?"

Lucy nodded, "I think so. It doesn't matter though. Aunt Bella is in Azkaban for attempting to kill the Longbottoms, and her other sister was disowned."

Matt didn't say any more as he didn't want to get her hopes up. He looked at his watch and said, "Dinner's about to start. Why don't you go on ahead. I'll meet up with you later."

She exited the chamber and Matt spent the next five minutes looking through a lab journal detailing Blackstaff's attempts to block any further travel between the material plane and The Abyss. He'd finally succeeded around seven years before his death, though he'd kept an imp as a familiar/lab assistant in the cage in the corner.

--

"I'll catch you later," Matt said, as he walked off.

"I wonder what he's up to..." Hermione muttered.

"Who knows," Harry shrugged. "It's really none of our business, Hermione."

"I know," Hermione sighed.

"But..." Harry said.

"I didn't say 'but,'" Hermione protested.

"I heard 'but,' I sensed 'but,'" Harry replied.

"Oh, alright. It's just that I've always thought of Matt as my little brother, and I feel a little protective of him, sometimes," Hermione replied.

"You know, Matt once said the exact same thing to me about you. Though he _did_ say sister instead of brother, he didn't specify 'big sister' or 'little sister,'" Harry said thoughtfully.

"It's good to know the ill-tempered midget's got my back, I guess," Hermione smiled.

Harry had noticed that more than just thinking of each other as the sibling they never had, the two cousins actually _treated_ each other like siblings. _I guess that's what happens when you grow up in a family like theirs_, Harry thought. Jenny Robertson and Candace Granger were much closer than you would expect sisters living on opposite sides of the Atlantic to be. Harry chalked this up to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Monaghan, Jenny and Candace's parents, were killed in a car accident in the winter of 1969. The driver of the other car was only sixteen, but his blood alcohol level was very near alcohol poisoning. He had apparently been celebrating getting his driver's license. Their parents' deaths left a nineteen-year-old Jenny Monaghan to take care of her nine-year-old sister, Candace.

Harry admired his godmother for having made it through college, graduating with honors, all while taking care of her little sister. Shortly after graduating from college, Jenny married her college sweetheart, Theon Robertson, who had graduated two years before her and was at the time earning his reputation as one of the scariest linebackers of the '70s.

Due to the circumstances, Candace Monaghan looked up to her sister and brother-in-law as surrogate parents. They even helped her to pay her tuition for Washington University, where she met and quickly fell in love with Clive Granger. Clive had grown up in foster care, and considered himself lucky to have made it as far as he did. When Candace got pregnant in early 1979, Clive immediately asked her to marry him. _The rest, as they say, is history_, Harry thought.

All this added up to a very close-knit clan that the Potters had gradually been admitted into. Try as he might though, Harry could not bring him to think of Hermione as a sister, or cousin, or anything like that. He could easily think of Matt as his brother, but Hermione has always remained separate from thoughts of family.

"Earth to Harry, come in Harry!" Hermione was saying, pulling Harry from his thoughts. She had apparently led him to the library while he was lost within himself.

"Why are we here? We haven't been assigned any essays yet," Harry said.

"I know, but Matt's been acting strange lately," Hermione said. She paused, thoughtful look on her face. "Actually, it's just since we met Lucy that he's been acting strange, come to think of it," she added after a moment's thought.

"Face it, Hermione, he's not your little robotic minion. He never was," Harry said. "Just because he suddenly walks off to do something on his own doesn't mean he's acting strange," Harry said exasperatedly.

"It's just that he seems so comfortable around Lucy, and he only met her yesterday. He still acted a little on edge around me until we were seven!" Hermione said.

"Huh," Harry grunted thoughtfully. "Maybe you're on to something, but I doubt there's anything in here that will help you in this case. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some fresh air before dinner," Harry said as he strode off towards the Entrance Hall.

--

By taking a shorter route, Matt actually entered the Hall just as Lucy was sitting down with some of the other Gryffindor first years.

Matt took his usual seat across from his cousin. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"Around," Matt grunted.

"So which broom cupboard were you in, and who with?" Lee Jordan asked as he walked by. Lee was a tall black boy with dreadlocks that reached the middle of his shoulder blades, and he was the Weasley twins' best friend.

Matt shook his head, but he could feel a faint blush rise in his cheeks. Luckily, no one seemed to notice it. When he looked up, Hermione had a strange expression on her face, but she didn't say anything further to Matt.

_Your cousin keeps giving me strange looks_, Lucy's voice said in Matt's head ten minutes later.

_Really?_ Matt asked in return.

_Yes_, Lucy returned. _It's driving me crazy!_

_Just ignore her_, Matt sent. _That's what I do._

As dinner progressed, Matt would occasionally experience unusual, faint twinges. He couldn't really explain what they felt like, not even to himself--except that he felt them in the deepest parts of his sinuses. He filed this away for a later date.

--

The next day, Hermione confronted Matt about what was going on between him and Lucy.

"All we did was talk, Hermione," Matt said to Hermione after she asked him what he'd been doing with Lucy the previous day.

"But you two are bonded soul-mates!" Hermione exclaimed.

"And your point is?" Matt said, apparently not surprised that Hermione had figured it out.

"But surely you didn't...I mean you're only twelve!" Hermione sputtered.

"No! Of course not! That's not the only way, you know!" Matt managed to respond.

"But it _is_ the most common way," Hermione reminded him.

"Yes, but I don't remember doing anything like that on the train, Hermione--certainly not in front of _you_," Matt responded.

"The train?" Hermione repeated, puzzled. Then she remembered how one minute the two were acting normally, and the next they started acting funny. "Oh, right. Sorry. So how _did_ you bond, anyway?"

"I think it happened when I looked her in the eyes. I didn't tell you _everything_ about what I saw. I kind of left out a small detail. When we made eye contact, she saw my soul, and our souls sort of slotted together like puzzle pieces," Matt said. "Are you satisfied?" Hermione nodded.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just off to send a letter," Matt said, turning to the door to Blackstaff's lab.

"Harry's already sent a letter to Sirius," Hermione said.

"What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?" asked Matt.

"You can be so slow sometimes, you know," Hermione quipped. "Yesterday while I was in the library and you were wherever you were, Harry wrote a letter to Sirius about Lucy's predicament."

"Oh, right," Matt said.

While Sirius could not claim the nobility associated with the title, since he'd become an American citizen a few years previously, he still remained the Head of House Black--technically his title was Steward, but it amounted to the same thing. The day before Hermione had also looked into information relating to disowned individuals. Apparently, if the mother of the individual can claim membership to a noble house, the head of said house has the option of adopting said individual into the root family of the house if they've been disowned from the their father's family.

"I mean, it's a long shot, but maybe he'll take her in, y'know?" Matt muttered.

"It may not be as long a shot as you think," Hermione said.

Matt shrugged and left.

Hermione stood up and thought over the events of the past three days.

_Just another year at Hogwarts_, Hermione thought dryly. Giving the scattered bones in the corner a final glance, she walked out the door herself. By reflex she looked down at her watch, remembering as she saw the blank display that digital watches didn't work in Hogwarts.

_I really need to get a different watch_.

--

A/N: Another chapter down. The name Kelben 'Blackstaff' Arundsen was taken from Forgotten Realms lore. Similarly, the Abyss is also taken from D&D sources. Whether they will play a role (no pun intended) later on is as yet undecided.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll try to get back to you--but please, try to make it more substantial than 'great job, update soon' or 'that sucked so bad it made my eyes bleed.' Also note that I've disabled anonymous reviews. I got tired of people leaving comments on where they think I went wrong, but not leaving any way for me to respond to them.


	14. Vocabulary Lessons

Disclaimer: Never, _ever_, let a blind man drive drunk! Although, I imagine they suffer less impairment to their driving ability compared with normal than someone who isn't blind. "Achey Breaky Heart" (shudders) lyrics belong to Billy Ray Cyrus (I think)

**Chapter 14: Vocabulary Lessons**

"No, no, no!" the bossy brunette was saying to her cousin. "You're doing it wrong."

Harry's friends were practicing wandwork for Transfiguration class. While Matt _was_ noticeably better with wandwork than before, he still wasn't anywhere near the top.

They were supposed to be turning a teacup into a saucer. Why anyone would _want_ to turn a teacup into a saucer was beyond Harry. He watched as Matt tried again. The result looked vaguely like a candlestick holder.

"Have you _ever_ thought of trying finesse?" asked an exasperated Hermione as she reversed the...taucer...to it's original state. It was the first Saturday of the school year, and Harry, Hermione, Matt, and Ron were in one corner of the Gryffindor common room.

"Nope. Personally I prefer BFFI," Matt quipped back. It was nearly supper time, and Matt was the only one of the group that had yet to get it right. Luna had been with them earlier, but shortly after she succeeded she had traipsed off, saying something about an infestation of pirklins.

"What's BFFI?" asked Ron. He had succeeded over an hour ago.

"Brute Force and Fuckin' Ignorance," Harry supplied. "I thought you preferred BMFH's?"

"Nah, not in this situation," Matt replied as Lucy, seated a few feet behind him suddenly blushed. "That comes later."

Ron was puzzled again. "What's--"

"Big MotherFucking Hammer," Hermione replied.

Ron gaped at her.

"What? It's not like it's the first time I've ever said 'fuck,' and it's certainly not the last."

"But...but..."

"Geez, Ron, why do you have to be such a chauvinistic pig?" Ginny quipped from beside Lucy.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth," Ron said weakly, trying to make a joke of it.

"Where do you think I learned those words? Dad? That's rich. Dad's the picture of a proper gentleman most of the time, and when he does slip, he never says anything truly bad," Hermione said. Harry knew this to be true. He remembered thinking that Clive must have been really pissed off when he called the Jaguar crap. Candace, on the other hand, had repertoire of foul language that could make a drunken sailor blush.

"Tada!" Matt exclaimed. While everyone had been focused on Hermione and Ron, Matt had successfully transfigured his teacup into a saucer. "And for my next trick..." He set the saucer on his palm and held it at arm's length. With the saucer in his right hand and the fingertips of his left hand held to his temple, he stared intently at the saucer.

A minute passed and nothing had happened. Ron seemed about to say something when the saucer suddenly shattered. Not just shattered, but exploded.

"H-How the bloody hell did you do that?!" Ron nearly shouted.

"Simple. I forced my magic into it and focused on the image of it exploding," Matt said.

"That's...that's..."

"Amazing?" Harry suggested to the redhead.

"That wasn't what I was going to say, but it'll work."

--

Later that evening Matt, Harry, Hermione, Lucy and Ron were in Blackstaff's study, Matt having convinced them to at least try to get to know Lucy better. He didn't understand why they seemed so reluctant to get to know her, but he was determined to put a stop to that. Besides, he felt more comfortable with Harry and Hermione in the room with him.

"So I guess the most obvious question is how you ended up...what's the word I'm looking for?" asked Hermione after five awkward minutes of silence.

"Not an evil bitch," Ron supplied.

"Thank you, Ronald, I was trying to find a nice way to say it, but I guess that's exactly what I was thinking," Hermione responded.

"Always glad to help," he responded as if he hadn't heard anything after 'thank you.'

"So anyway, how did you end up, as Ron said, not evil?" Hermione asked.

"Well, for the most part I was raised by one of the house elves, Dobby. Until this spring, that is. Fa--Lucius, got carried away with punishing him and killed him," Lucy said, a tear running down her cheek. "After that, Moth--Narcissa, took over caring for me, not that she was any good at it."

"You mean your parents didn't have anything to do with raising you?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"No, that's not what I said," Lucy replied. "They just didn't do much. A lecture here on why purebloods are better than everyone else, a lesson there on how to be a proper lady..." she trailed off.

"So...anybody got any gum?" Ron asked into the uneasy silence.

"Sure, I got some right here in my fanny-pack," Matt said, reaching into a bag attached to his belt. "What?" he asked, noticing the looks he got from Ron and Lucy as he pulled out two penknives, a Swiss Army Knife, a set of brass knuckles, a saltshaker filled with toothpicks, three canisters mace/teargas, and tiny double barrelled pistol--a derringer, one loaded with .357 magnum ammunition.

"I told you not to call it that," Hermione said tiredly, thought there was a confused look on her face.

"But you never explained why," Matt countered.

_Do you know what fanny means?_ Lucy sent.

_It means butt--although I have a feeling your going to say something else, aren't you?_ Matt returned.

_It er...it means...er...it-it means ...vagina_, she sent. Matt could feel himself blushing.

Matt coughed. "Never mind. But what am I supposed to call it?"

"How about you just don't carry it around?" Hermione asked reasonably.

"It holds my emergency supplies," he said, digging into the other pocket of the pack, pulling out another pistol--this one a full size Glock 17--an extra Bowie knife, a hatchet, several dehydrated meals and canned meats, and--finally--a large pack of Big Red gum. "Knew I'd find it somewhere," he said handing Ron a stick and offering everyone else in the room some as well.

"Why can't you just keep the stuff in your bag?" Hermione said in a reasonable tone of voice, giving Harry a look that seemed to be pleading him to try and talk some sense into his friend. Unfortunately, Harry was determined to stay out of this argument, or so it seemed.

"Backpacks can be taken away or lost. You didn't even know I had this with me until I mentioned it," Matt said.

"How did you do that, anyway?" Harry asked, curious.

Matt reached into the first compartment again. "With this," he said, withdrawing a faceted stone about the size of a golf ball. It was jet black--probably onyx--and appeared to have a small gold rune on each of the facets.

"What is that?" Hermione asked.

"A S.E.P. generator," Matt said. "It hides an object from notice unless attention is drawn to it by the controller of the generator. Powerful mind magic. You'll forget about this conversation and my pack within five minutes after the subject is changed."

"S.E.P.?" Hermione asked, thirsty as ever for knowledge.

"Somebody Else's Problem. Kinda like in Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy," Matt said as he put everything away.

As Matt picked up the pistol Hermione asked, "Why do you have the guns? Don't you know that they're illegal in this country?"

"Who's gonna tell? You? Besides they're last resort only. After last year, I'm not taking any chances," Matt said. "In case you forgot, I discovered a dark wizard teaching Defense, and I'm quite certain he would have killed to keep his secret if possible. As Harry's dad has said so many times, there is no magic that can protect against bullets."

"But how did you even get them past customs?" Hermione persisted.

"The pack. I could fill it with all the utensils from the Great Hall and walk right through a metal detector without setting it off," Matt said. "But we're not her to discuss my paranoia, or any law breaking I may have done. We came here to get to know Lucy better."

They spent an hour talking, getting to know Lucy, Lucy getting to know them. Matt couldn't contain a grin when she said she was a cat lover. Luckily she seemed to have missed it, Matt supposed.

As they walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence, Matt thought over the past few days, especially the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He was reconsidering his comparison of Lockhart to Gene Simmons. While Simmons was at least good at what he was famous for, Lockhart was completely inept. Matt had already decided that this year in Defense was a waste.

_At least I have plenty of bullets, if it comes to that_, Matt thought, although the thought was not as comforting as it should have been.

--

The next day, Sunday, Harry and his friends were out on the grounds practicing with their blades. On paper, they were fairly evenly matched, despite their differences. Hermione had the advantage of reach, with her being the tallest--meaning she also had longer arms--and also wielding a machete, which was almost two feet long, or a rapier. However, she hadn't had much practice, so Harry and Matt had to hold a little back when practicing with her, but--ever the quick study--she was quickly catching up.

Matt was obviously much stronger, though he also was ambidextrous, which allowed him to use a second knife in his left hand, if he so chose. He also had a bastard sword that he'd received from Harry's parents and Sirius for his birthday, but he seemed to be more comfortable with the pair of bowie knives he kept strapped across his chest.

Harry had the advantage of speed and instinct, which allowed him to use his single knife to great advantage. He also had a simple longsword, but he only used that when Matt pulled out his bastard sword.

Harry and Matt had spent much of the summer practicing with their knives, and, on occasion, their swords. In fact, on the day that they came across the drunken teens they had been looking for a secluded place for a practice duel of the martial--rather than magical--variety.

While they tried to pull back at the last second if it looked like they were going to land a blow, both Harry and Matt knew spells for closing cuts--albeit crude versions that would still leave scars--so they weren't worried about any of them bleeding out if they were nicked.

Currently Harry and Matt were preparing to duel with their swords, both holding their respective weapons in two handed grips. Matt's bastard sword had a slight advantage in reach, but his strikes were slower, given the added weight.

Harry and Matt circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike first. Suddenly Matt charged, bringing his sword down in a left to right overhead chop. It was a sloppy move, which Harry blocked in an equally sloppy manner, his hands going numb from the force of the impact, and he nearly dropped his own sword.

Harry knew that while most of the force from that blow came from Matt's strength, a not inconsiderable amount came from the weight of the bastard sword, which fell between a longsword and great sword in size and weight. Harry himself would not be able to swing it, being almost fifteen pounds lighter than Matt--despite being just over three inches taller.

Harry returned Matt's chop with a left to right upward slash, which Matt almost parried, ending up with a small nick on the back of his left wrist. after a slight pause to patch it up, they resumed, this time Matt putting all his strength into a horizontal sweep at Harry's chest, which Harry jumped back from, bringing his longsword around for a left to right downward slash which missed, having not taken into account Matt's sideways stagger when he tried to reign in the momentum of his sword, which he immediately brought back and caught Harry off guard and nearly severed the last two fingers on Harry's left hand, though they were only just attached.

"Practice over!" shouted Matt, grabbing Harry and leading him to the castle. "Hold your hand over your head, Harry," Matt instructed. Harry did as he was told.

"Hermione, could you get the swords?" Matt called over his shoulder to his cousin. Thanks," he added without looking.

Less than five minutes later they had reached the hospital wing. "What have you gotten yourself into, Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked. "You didn't go stumbling into one of the more dangerous greenhouses, by any chance, did you?"

"No, ma'am," Matt answered as she started tending to Harry. "We were having a practice duel--"

"That doesn't explain how this happened, Mr. Robertson. You shouldn't know any spells that would do anything like this yet," the impatient healer interjected.

"Not a magical duel," Harry said through gritted teeth. "With our swords."

"What were you thinking?! One unlucky blow and you've killed your best friend--or at the very least cut off an arm or leg!" she nearly screamed. "This is why the practice of carrying swords and the like fell out of practice, too many people hacking their friends limbs off!"

"Can I get a little help here?" Harry grunted plaintively. What he wanted to say was _Hurry up you gods-damned motherfucking ditzy bitch_, but he didn't think it was a good idea.

"I knew this would happen last year after you started carrying those," she pointed at Matt's Bowie knives. "I told Dumbledore he needed to do something about it, but did he take my advice? No! Now you've gone and disfigured your friend--"

"Hello-o-o, bleeding out over here!" Harry shouted through gritted teeth. His arm was getting tired, but he knew if he let it down, he'd bleed even more profusely than he already was. He looked down at his right hand and suddenly it exploded in pain as he noticed a nasty gash on it as well. He tried not to think of what his left hand must look like. He was partially successful, and therefore only partially nauseated.

"What?" the healer asked, seemingly having forgotten her patient. "Oh, right," she waved her wand in a complicated manner, and Harry's fingers reattached themselves, though he still couldn't move them. She rushed off to retrieve some potions. She still hadn't done anything for his right hand.

When she returned with the potions, Harry held up his right hand--careful to keep the cut out of his sight--and she healed it without comment.

She handed Harry an opaque crimson potion first. "This will restore the blood you've lost, as well as repair any damage to soft tissues. This," she handed him a small phial--really just a shot glass--of a vile looking green potion," will repair any damage to bones, tendons, and ligaments," Harry drank it and nearly spat it back out immediately, but grimaced and swallowed it anyway.

"Serves you right," the peeved healer scolded on seeing his expression. "If it had simply been broken bones you wouldn't have to take that, but ligaments and tendons have to be repaired a bit more slowly. You'll have to spend the night. I'd suggest you to forget that silly sword swinging nonsense, but I doubt you'd listen to me if I did."

"Sorry," Matt muttered as the healer walked away.

"Accidents happen," Harry said, brushing the apology aside.

Just as Matt was getting ready to leave, the Healer returned carrying a pair of odd looking belts with large, almost decorative looking buckles. "Mr. Robertson, Mr. Potter, since you insist on playing knights, take these," she handed them each one of the belts. Harry felt they looked like something Garth Brooks would wear, and was repulsed by the thought. "They're Swordsman's Belts. They're used for practice duelling. They'll protect you from hurting each other and also keep score. They're not cheap, but I'll get Dumbledore to send the bill to your parents, since they should have thought about them before now."

As the healer walked off, now slightly less perturbed, Matt muttered, "Where's the matching cowboy hat?" causing Harry to laugh.

Before Matt left the infirmary, he went to Madame Pomfrey and got another belt for Hermione.

--

September became October, and there were no more mishaps with from their duels. The Swordsman's Belts protected them, though when they registered a hit that would have taken a limb, that limb went numb and limp, and when they registered a 'death blow,' the belt caused them to fall like a puppet with it's strings cut.

Matt had obtained a Stetson cowboy hat, but after one duel with Hermione, where he sang the chorus of "Achey Breaky Heart," while going all out with his Bowie knives against her estoc, he was forbidden to ever wear it during a duel again. She cracked up and didn't even flinch--much less parry--the slash that would have slit her throat without the intervention of the Belts.

"No fair," she said, wheezing.

"No kidding," Matt said, turning green, as if he just realized what he'd done. "I wouldn't even wish that on Malfoy. Lockhart, maybe, but that's about it."

"I don't know, Matt," Harry said. "I think Malfoy would deserve it."

"Maybe your right," Matt said reluctantly, though Harry could tell that he was much less reluctant than he sounded.

October passed quickly. On the eve of All Hallows Eve, Hermione received a package, but she refused to show Harry or Matt what it was.

The next morning, Harry and Matt met Hermione for the wake-up call. Matt handed Hermione the agreed upon disc, Cannibal Corpse's "Houses of the Haunted," which she quickly put in the player and activated. The only one in the castle who had listened to the album was Matt.

The minute it started, Harry wondered why they had let Matt convince them to play it without listening to it first.

"Nice going, asshole!" Harry yelled over the music at Matt. "Breakfast is going to be completely inedible, today!"

"Way ahead of you," Matt replied, tossing him a protein bar and a meal replacement shake, then turning to Hermione and doing the same for her. He had two of each left. Ten minutes later, when Lucy came down, he handed her one of each, then together they headed to the Great Hall to see if there was anything viable on the tables before resorting to the provisions.

As it turned out, there was a single pitcher of orange juice on the Gryffindor table, and every thing else was just omelet, containing all the usual breakfast items--bacon, sausage, egg, kippers, mashed potatoes, marmalade, cereal, pancake batter, maple syrup, grapefruit and orange halves, and other assorted fruits.

Matt poured himself a goblet of orange juice and unwrapped the protein bar. "Good thing I had these provisions, wouldn't you say?" he asked conversationally as he began eating. Harry rolled his eyes and saw Hermione pantomime strangling Matt.

By the time the Hall was half-full, the album had ended. Shortly after that, the 'omelets' disappeared and were replaced with edible food. Hermione slipped Matt his CD, and put in something Harry couldn't see. She muttered something under her breath, then Harry heard her tapping the player and all across the hall people were either grabbing their ears--which they had just released--or trying to sing in what Harry could only assume was an off key manner. He was puzzled for a few minutes...and then he heard it. _No. There's no way she could be that evil..._

But she was. By now half of the students in the hall were singing along.

_Don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart,  
I just don't think he'd understand.  
'Cause if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart,  
He might blow up and kill this man._

"You are one sick, sadistic bitch, you know that?" Harry said to Hermione, struggling to hold in a laugh.

"Why thank you for noticing, Harry," Hermione replied brightly. "But it's only just begun."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, but she said no more.

--

Apparently, Hermione had set her CD player to repeat the song over and over and over, to everyone but Harry, Matt, Lucy and Hermione herself. By the end of classes students were begging whatever higher powers they believed in to _just make it stop._ Matt, upon hearing a story of Snape's vindictiveness, was glad that the Gryffindor second years didn't have Potions on that particular day.

Harry, unlike Matt was quite looking forward to the Halloween feast. Rumors had been swirling that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons. As the feast was winding down, Dumbledore brought out the entertainment for the night, and, sure enough, several reanimated cadaver skeletons clattered up to the front of the Hall. Harry, having hoped that the rumors were true, had borrowed Dean's copy of "Thriller," which Hermione started as the skeletons prepared to dance. Matt took this as his cue to leave. He noted that the skeletons were doing the routine from the video, and then he was out the door.

He was just passing a bathroom on the first floor when he decided to look out the window. _Quite an amazing view, even from here_, Matt thought to himself.

He wasn't sure how long he had been staring out the window when he heard the door behind him open. There was silence for a few minutes, then he heard a faint rustling. He looked up.

Behind his reflection he saw a pair of gigantic glowing yellow eyes. He felt his body go rigid. _Son of a bitch!_ he thought as fell backwards. As his head hit the stone floor he was vaguely aware of the puddle of water and the sound of something else, something much smaller, splashing down next to him. Then the blackness rose up to claim him and he knew no more.

--

Lucy had been enjoying the show when, all of a sudden, in her head she heard, _Son of a bitch!_

By now used to Matt's proclivity towards foul language, she didn't even bat an eyelash at the epithet, but she did send back, _Are you okay?_

She waited for a minute, then tried again. When she still didn't get an answer, she turned to Harry and said, "Something's happened to Matt."

Harry turned to her and opened his mouth to say something--either to ask her how she knew or to tell her she was crazy--then shut it, face screwed up in concern, apparently having seen something in her expression.

"Let's go," he said to Hermione and Ron, who had heard Lucy's pronouncement. The four got up to go look for Matt.

They got as far as the hallway outside the first floor girls' bathroom when they came to a dead stop. All four uttered expressions of surprise.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Harry.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Oh, my," gasped Lucy.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Ron.

"Is that...?" asked Hermione.

"'fraid so," murmured Harry.

Lucy fainted.

"HOLY SHIT!" exclaimed Ron, his gaze going from the scene before them to Lucy, and back again.

--

A/N: And so the chapter ends. No, Matt isn't dead. Just petrified. I figure most of you would realize that on your own, but I also _knew_ if I didn't say that people would yell at me for writing a cliffhanger. So maybe it is a little one, but it's not exactly one that is impossible to figure out. I could have continued on, but I had reached my target length, and I'm not sure how much longer continuing on would make the chapter--though I wouldn't be surprised if the first scene of the next chapter--which would have been at the end of this chapter--topped 1000 words. Plus, I figured my loyal readers (and there are still some of you out there) would appreciate a new chapter being posted.

I was boning up for (hopefully) a return of World of Darkness play with my world of Darkness group, and it shows, a little, towards the middle.

I'm not sure if "Achey Breaky Heart" would have been released by this time or not. All I remember about it was that I was in Kindergarten when it came out. For me, Kindergarten was '92-'93. No, I was never a fan of Country music, I just happen to remember riding the bus home from school, approximately 22 kindergartners singing the chorus over and over again, ad nauseam. I'm embarrassed to say I joined in most of the time.

For those Americans reading this that thought I was making up the bit about FANNY meaning the female reproductive organs in Britain, I swear I'm not. For those British people reading this, quit giggling. It's unbecoming.

While I'm on the subject of fanny packs, I'll go ahead and explain, for those who don't get it, that the second pocket Matt dug through was like Hermione's bag in DH.

Finally...

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll get to them when i get to them. You just got to have a little patience.


	15. The Writing's on the Wall

Disclaimer I do not own Harry Potter or the Harry Potter universe. I just treat them as a literary LEGO set. You know, putting the pieces together in a random way to see what you get. Though it's best to do it in a more broad sense, otherwise you end up with the entire Weasley family on a single torso. Not pretty. Or worse--you end up with Snape's head on Hermione's body...although, come to think of it, I think I've seen a few fanfics with just that premise--or if not, there will be soon. Anyway , my point is...I DON"T OWN HARRY POTTER!

**Chapter 15: The Writing's on the Wall**

The walls were painted with some sort of crimson substance, spelling the message, "THE CHAMBER HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE," in foot high lettering.

Below the writing lay Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, and Matt, both stiff as a board. Matt's left arm was held in front of him, almost straight but with a slight bend at the elbow, palm flat as if against a wall, while his right hand hovered over one the brace of knives on his chest. The cat had her tail curled at an odd angle.

"Is that blood?" Hermione asked.

"Huh, what?" responded Harry, still staring at the scene in disbelief.

"The writing on the wall. Is it written in blood?"

Harry moved forward, careful not to step on Matt or Mrs. Norris. He took a close look at the words and gulped. "It sure looks like it," he said as he walked back to where Hermione stood with Ron.

"Holy shit," Ron muttered weakly.

Harry was halfway back to where his friends were when he opened his mouth to suggest that they go looking for a teacher. He was unable to say anything before the halls filled with the sound of hundreds of feet, and Harry could see what looked like the entire student body of Hogwarts advancing on them.

"Enemies of the heir beware?" came the voice of Draco Malfoy from somewhere in the crowd. "Better watch your back mudbloods, or you'll end up like Robertson," he taunted gleefully. The group milled about, staring at the message and muttering to each other for almost five minutes before any authority figure showed up.

"Move aside, move aside," came the irritated wheeze of Mr. Filch, Hogwarts caretaker. When he saw his cat, seemingly frozen in mid-stride, he whirled on Harry, who was still closest to the two frozen figures.

"You! You did this!" he said, spittle flying from his lips as his rage built.

"Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" asked Harry, so thoroughly surprised that he'd momentarily lost his internal monologue. _Did I _really_ just ask that out loud?_ he thought before continuing. "Why the fuck would I do that to my _best friend_?!"

"Maybe it was just collateral damage," the old caretaker said, a wild look in his eye.

"Why would I do anything to your cat?" Harry asked reasonably, though he knew at this point the old man might be beyond reason.

"Everyone hates her but me!" Filch shouted. "Don't try to deny it!" he continued casting a look to the surrounding crowd, none of which had been prepared to protest. "You're going to pay for this!", he finished turning back to Harry and reaching out, attempting to throttle him.

Harry reacted instantly, taking a quick step back and drawing his knife in a fluid motion. As the caretaker's hands closed around Harry's neck, the knife edge contacted Filch's throat. He didn't tighten his grip on Harry's neck, nor did he let go. Instead they locked gazes. "Let go of me," Harry bit out. "Now," he added, pressing the blade a little harder against the caretaker's throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

"You wouldn't dare," Filch said, the wild look beginning to fade.

"It takes far less time to slit a throat than it does to strangle someone. Go ahead. Try me," Harry goaded, his voice filled with a confidence he didn't feel.

When Filch still did not let go, Harry pondered aloud, "I wonder if Madame Pomfrey would get here in time to save you from completely bleeding out." To emphasize his point he pushed the blade yet harder, the thin stream becoming wider. "I figure it would take about ten minutes for someone to go retrieve her. I don't know how long it takes for a human to bleed out when their throat gets sliced open from ear to ear, but I'm betting it would be less than ten minutes. Matt might know for sure, but we can't exactly ask him, now, can we?"

The wild look was completely gone. In its place there was now unreasoning fear. _Fuck! He's down to fight or flight now. If he chooses fight, _Harry thought, _I'm gonna have to do it._

Just as Harry began to tense for the deathblow, Filch released him. He straightened, touching his fingertips to his neck where Harry's knife had rested.

"Well played, Mr. Potter," he said quietly, and Harry could have sworn he detected a trace of respect in his voice. "But mark my words," he continued, raising his voice so as to be heard by the rest of the assembled students, "if I catch _any_ of you pulling that sort of stunt on another student, Dumbledore or not, I'll hang the both of you by your thumbs for a week!"

"Come now, Argus," Professor Dumbledore said in soothing tones as he approached the scene. "No need to make such threats. Especially since an hour or two would be sufficient."

Harry noted the implication, and whispers broke out amongst those that had gathered, proving that he wasn't the only one. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

"He killed my cat," Filch answered pointing at Harry.

"We went over this already," Harry said tiredly, "I didn't do it. Plus, I don't think she's dead."

"What makes you say that, Mr. Potter?" the headmaster asked.

"The way it seemed to have frozen in mid-step, and the curl of it's tail," Harry replied. "It's too soon for rigor mortis, but even if it had set in already, the tail would be flat on the ground."

"I believe young Mr. Potter is right, Argus, " said Dumbledore. "However, that does leave the question as to what is wrong with your cat and Mr. Robertson." He walked over to the statue-like figures and commenced examining them. Meanwhile, Lockhart, whom Harry had failed to notice up to this point in the exchange, paced back and forth, spewing forth half-baked theories, generally making an ass of himself. Hermione, for once, wasn't hanging on his every word.

"I believe they have been petrified," Dumbledore announced a few minutes later. "Professor McGonagall, please take Matt and Mrs. Norris to the hospital wing." He then stepped over to Lucy and muttered a spell, bringing her back to consciousness. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, please escort your young friend back to your common room."

"Yes, Professor," the three said together.

They walked up to Gryffindor Tower in silence, muttered their goodnights and went to bed. The last half hour had been rather emotionally jarring for the four of them.

--

The following Friday Harry received a letter from Sirius. He had _finally_ replied to Harry's letter about Lucy. In it he said that he was spending the weekend in Hogsmeade and would be visiting during the day on both days. On the one hand, Harry was glad because he'd get to speak with his godfather, but on the other, he had the first quidditch match of the season, meaning he wouldn't get to talk to Sirius much on Saturday.

The next morning he was a woken by a jet of water to his face."I don' wanna pet the bunny!" he shouted, jerking upright. "Dammit, that's not funny, Ma...att..." he trailed off, looking over to the empty bed where his friend was supposed to be sleeping. His brain told him that someone had to have done the deed, even if Matt hadn't. He looked over to the other side of his bed and saw Oliver Wood standing over him, a look of near orgasmic bliss on his face, one that only quidditch could inspire in the usually dour sixth year. He noted absently that the window behind the Gryffindor quidditch captain was pitch black.

"I'm sorry about your friend Harry, but you need to get up. We've got a game today," he said, barely pulling off a sympathetic expression.

Harry glanced at his bedside clock. It read 4:34. "Do you fucking have any fucking idea what fucking time it is?!" Harry roared. "Get the fuck out of this room, Wood. If you _ever_ try to wake me before dawn again, not only will you be looking for a new seeker, you'll also be looking for your balls, which I will cut off and throw in the lake. Is that clear?"

"P-perfectly," the sixth year stuttered, having gone pale when Harry threatened to quit the team. He exited the room at a pace that was just short of a sprint.

"That was brilliant Harry!" Seamus exclaimed from the bed across from Harry. "Terrifying, certainly, but quite brilliant as well."

"Would you all just shut up and go back to sleep?!" Ron shouted, his voice muffled as if he was speaking through a pillow.

"Yeah, sure mate," Seamus responded. "Still, that was awesome, Harry."

--

Lucy was walking down to the Great Hall with Ginny Weasley, nervous about the day. She had heard a lot of stories about Sirius since she was disowned, and then last night she learned that he was coming to meet her today, all because of some old pureblood tradition.

As she sat down to breakfast, Harry, Hermione, and Ron came through the doors to the Great Hall. He seemed to be in a really bad mood for some reason. She noticed Harry give Oliver Wood an angry look and figured that it had something to do with him. As they approached, Ginny stopped talking midsentence and scurried off, farther down the table. Lucy wasn't sure why she did that, since half of the time she was fawning over how Harry did this or did that. Lucy _did_ like the girl, but she still found her strange.

As Harry sat down, Wood came over to talk to Harry. Before he could say anything, Harry said, in an irritated tone of voice, "You must be enamored with the idea of becoming a eunich, Wood."

"I just came to apologise, Harry," the sixth year replied. "However, you need to hurry up and eat so we can discuss strategy for the game."

"Just how fast do you think you could find and train a new seeker?" he glanced at his watch. "It's quarter after nine now, and the game is at two..." he let the thought trail off.

"So, er, I'll see you two hours before gametime, then?" Wood squeaked.

"Make it one hour," Harry responded, turning back to his hash browns.

"Er, right," the older boy said. "I'll just, ah, I'll just go tell the others," then he took off at a sprint.

"Wow, Harry, you've really got him under your thumb," Lucy marveled.

Harry shrugged. "You've just got to have the right leverage. You see, Wood is fanatical when it comes to quidditch. You should have seen the look on his face when he woke me up at four thirty this morning. If it'd been anybody else standing over my bed with that look I'd have been screaming 'rape' so loud that it would've woken Ender."

"Ender?"

"My baby brother. His real name is Andrew Rhys Potter. Ender is just a nickname Matt...gave..." For the second time that day he trailed off.

"Anyway, it's a nickname that just stuck," Harry said after a moment's pause.

"He's alright, Harry," Lucy said, trying to comfort him. "He's only perified. You and the other second years are raising Mandrakes which will cure him and the cat."

"Why aren't you very upset about this, Lucy?" asked Hermione, who had sat next to her. "You and Matt are soul mates, after all," she added after making sure no one was within earshot.

"We barely know each other," Lucy reminded her. "If it weren't for Matt's...uniqueness, we probably wouldn't know each other at all. I might not have been in Gryffindor, and we may never have bonded."

At that moment, Lucy could have sworn she heard Matt groan, "Ow, my head," but she figured it was just a trick of the acoustics in the Hall.

"So why did you faint when you saw him lying there on Halloween?" Hermione pressed.

Lucy shrugged. "I guess I'm just not as tough as the rest of you."

Lucy spent the morning wondering how Sirius would react to her. He arrived shortly before lunch. After a short conversation with Harry, he came over to Lucy and sat across from her at the Gryffindor table.

"So," he began, "I hear you're in need of a new home."

"Yes, sir," Lucy replied softly.

"Please, call me Sirius," he corrected.

"Okay, Sirius," Lucy said quietly.

The silence stretched for a couple minutes. "Listen, kid, I don't know much about raising kids, and I know nothing about little girls such as yourself," he said, trying to break the silence.

Lucy's heart sank. "Does that mean you've already made your decision?" she asked. _How could the heartless bastard come all the way here just to tell me he doesn't want me?_

"What?" he asked absently. "Oh. No, I haven't decided. I'm just warning you what you could be getting yourself into. My wife hopefully knows, but I'm clueless."

There was another awkward silence. "So Harry says you're not like your brother," Sirius said.

"Brothers," Lucy corrected.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"I have three brothers. Draco, who you know of, and Gaius and Longinus, they're eight, and even more arrogant than Draco," she said.

"Harry didn't say anything about them."

"Because I haven't told anyone about them," she sighed. "It's weird. They're more arrogant than Draco, but they liked me more than they liked him. And I have to admit, I was fond of them, but I bet they hate me more than anyone else in that house now."

"Probably," the man said.

Another silence. "You know, you don't seem like..." he paused, as if he was thinking of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say.

"An evil bitch," Lucy suggested.

"I was going to say 'a Malfoy,' but I guess that'll work," Sirius grinned.

She shrugged. "They just never put much effort into the brainwashing. I don't know why. They gave me weekly lectures on the supremacy of purebloods, but they never made much sense to me," she said. "It just sounded like tired old rhetoric."

"I know what you mean," he agreed.

"What?" asked Lucy, puzzled. Then it hit her. "Oh, right. Harry said you were in a similar situation."

"Yeah, I was. Though my old man didn't disown me. I was the firstborn male, and Black family tradition forbids disowning the oldest son. Don't ask me why. I never understood it either."

Lucy and Sirius spent all the time leading up to the quidditch match conversing.

The match was between Gryffindor and Slytherin, pitting Lucy's former brother against the best friend of her soul mate.

About thirty minutes into the match, Harry took a bludger to his left forearm, very obviously breaking it despite the bracer that passed for seeker's gloves he wore. _Oh, no_, Lucy thought. She knew that it could be healed, but he would have to wait until after the match was over, since to heal a player in the middle of a match would be to forfeit the match. It was a stupid rule, but a rule none-the-less.

_What happened?_ Matt's voice said in her head. Lucy gave a small yelp of fright.

"Something wrong?" Sirius asked from beside her.

"No, nothing's wrong," replied Lucy.

_Matt?_ she sent.

_Yeah?_ came the reply.

_Is that really you, or am I going crazyf?_

_It's really me. 'Course, I would say that even if I were a figment of your imagination, you know._

She vaguely registered that Harry had sighted the snitch and was chasing after it, followed closely by Draco.

_It's definitely you_, she sent, shaking her head.

_So what happened?_ Matt asked again.

_Huh? Oh, Harry got hit in his left forearm arm by a bludger. I can tell from across the pitch that it's broken._

_Ouch. That's gotta hurt._

Suddenly the stands around Lucy exploded into cheers. Expecting it to be just a goal, she looked up at the scoreboard and saw that the Gryffindor tally was up by 180 from where it was last time she looked. Then she saw Harry, holding his fist in the air in triumph, and she could just barely make out the little little metallic glints where the sun reflected off the snitch's wings.

_Harry caught the snitch, Matt. Gryffindor won, 390 to 250_, Lucy informed him, and regretted it immediately as he gave a loud whoop of delight in her head.

--

Harry woke to sharp pains in his left arm. _What the...?_ he thought into fuzzy disorientation of being woken from a deep sleep. Then it came back to him. He had broken his arm in the quidditch match. That wasn't why his arm hurt though. His arm hurt because of Gilderoy Lockhart's ineptitude. The self absorbed windbag had deboned his left arm--even removing his shoulder glade and collarbone. Madame Pomfrey had told him he was lucky he still had a skeleton left. She forced what seemed like a pint of the nasty green potion she'd given him for the partially severed fingers down his throat and told him he would have to stay for the rest of the night.

He wondered what had woken him. Then pain, while unpleasant, wasn't as bad as it had been when he fell asleep. Then he noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and heard the voices Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore.

"What was he doing out of bed in the first place, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"It would seem that he was coming to visit Mr. Potter," the headmaster replied.

"What could be doing this?"

"I do not know. Perhaps he was able to take a picture of his attacker," Professor Dumbledore said.

Harry heard a click, followed shortly by a gasp. As the smell of burning film wafted over to him, Harry realized who they must be talking about. Colin Creevey, a small, mousy-haired boy who was in his first year at Hogwarts, and a Gryffindor to boot. _It's a real shame. He's a good kid_, Harry thought, lamenting that another student would miss the year of school.

"It is as I feared. The Chamber of Secrets has once again been opened."

As he drifted off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard a snake moaning about being denied a kill. Though it wasn't the first time he'd heard something like that, it was the first time he'd heard it in Britain. He sighed and wished he had Mona to talk to. But the black snake had been hit by a car over the summer trying to cross Route PP, the road in front of his house.

When he woke up the next morning, he'd forgotten all about the snake he heard. After a brief examination Madame Pomfrey declared him healthy enough to leave the infirmary.

When Harry reached the Great Hall, he saw Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Lucy clustered together at one end of the Gryffindor table.

As he got closer, he noticed that Lucy seemed more animated and cheerful than she had been since he'd met her--though, granted, that had been barely two months ago.

After exchanging greetings with everyone, Harry sat down next to Hermione and began eating.

"Hey, Harry, guess what!" Lucy said, smiling a real smile for the first time since Harry had met her.

"Uh...what?"

"Sirius is going to take me in!" she blurted. "He doesn't know whether it'll be as a guardian or a genuine adoption, but, still, it's somewhere to live," this last was a little more subdued, but it still didn't completely dim her excitement.

"Congratulations," Harry said to her.

"Thanks. Hermione was telling me all about the house he lives in," Lucy said.

"That's right, he _did_ buy the Grangers' house when they moved to Britain," Harry remembered. Hermione and her parents had actually lived in America until Hermione was almost six. They moved to Britain shortly after Jenny and Candace's great aunt passed away, leaving her house to Candace. They'd moved just a month before that fateful Independence Day, the one where Harry had almost died, if it hadn't been for Matt...

Harry's thoughts trailed off. _Dammit, Harry, get a hold of yourself! Matt's gonna be okay._

"Something wrong, mate?" Ron asked.

"No, just thinking about Matt," Harry said.

"He's just fine, Harry. Petrification is entirely reversible," Hermione said.

"It's just that the mandrakes won't be ready until almost summer, and he _is_ my best friend," Harry said defensively.

"What are we, chopped liver?" Hermione asked.

"No, that's not what I meant and you know it," snapped Harry.

"Harry," Ron said, "I think her point is that we're your friends too, and we're here for you."

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Ron gave a defeated sigh. "Oh, sorry, I thought I--wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"I never thought I'd see the day," Fred Weasley said, having sat down for breakfast a few feet away.

"Our little brother was right about something, for once," George added.

"Brings a tear to your eye, doesn't, dear brother," Fred said to George.

"We should do something to commemorate this occasion," George continued.

"Perhaps a party?" Fred suggested.

"No, we just had one last night. Don't worry, Ickle Ronnikins, we'll think of something," George said.

"Yeah, we'll make sure that everyone remembers the day Ronald Bilius Weasley was right!" Fred exclaimed.

"Bloody wankers," Ron muttered.

"It takes one to know one," Harry replied brightly.

"Oi! Not you too!" Ron exclaimed.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself. You left yourself wide open for that one," Harry said when he stopped laughing.

"Harry, Hermione, can I speak with you privately after breakfast?" Lucy asked.

He glanced at Hermione, who nodded. "Sure."

He looked around to see if anyone was listening in. No one appeared to be. "Listen, guys, Something happened last night while I was in the hospital wing..." He went on to describe the conversation he overheard between Dumbledore and McGonagall.

--

After they finished eating, Lucy, Harry, and Hermione went to Blackstaff's study.

"So what was it you wanted to talk to us about, Lucy?" Hermione asked.

"You're probably not going to believe me," Lucy began, "but Matt regained consciousness yesterd--"

"But he was still petrified when I left the hospital wing this morning," Harry interrupted.

"It _is_ possible Harry," Hermione said. "No one is entirely sure what happens when someone is petrified."

"How can we know that she's telling the truth, that the bond hasn't driven her crazy?!"

"We ask her something only Matt would know, that's what," Hermione answered patiently.

"Oh, right," Harry replied sheepishly.

There was a silence for a few minutes.

"I got one," Harry said. "Ask him what color underwear that drunk girl, Holly, was wearing August 17."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. After almost a minute, Lucy blushed and said, "Grey."

"That's right," Harry said. "Now ask him how many pairs of pants we ran up trees that day."

Another short pause. "Seven--two blue jeans, two pairs of jogging shorts, and three pairs of jeans shorts."

"That's exactly right," Harry said. He turned to Hermione. "I say we trust her."

"So, Lucy, did he see who or what attacked him?"

Another pause. "Not really. He remembers a pair of glowing eyes, but little else."

"So it had to be a creature of some sort," Hermione said.

"Well, at least it's a start," Harry said, shrugging. He looked at Lucy. "You know what this means don't you?"

"Not really, no," she answered.

"We'll be spending all our free time in the library for the next month--if not longer."

--

A/N: Another chapter down. I hope you liked it. I could have made it longer, but I wanted to get another chapter up.

I know what chapter three said about the Grangers. At the time I wrote it I had yet to finalize the Granger's background. Thus, Hermione was written as growing up in Britain from birth, despite being born while Candace and Clive were still attending Washington University in St. Louis. I've repaired this little error, hopefully. I have an updated version of Chapter 3 with the new background for Hermione. If I haven't posted it yet, PM me.

I've reactivated Anonymous reviews, but only on a trial basis. If I get more reviews telling me I fucked up somewhere, but without giving me a chance to explain my reasoning, I'm turning them off again.

Finally...

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll do my best to get back to you on them.


	16. Snakes! Why Did It Have to be Snakes?

Disclaimer: Some people create as therapy. For me, creativity is _part_ of the disease.

**Chapter 16: Snakes! Why Did It Have to be Snakes?!**

Over the next two weeks, Harry and his friends spent most of their free time searching through the library for common magical creatures with glowing eyes. They didn't find Matt's attacker, but Harry _did_ find an interesting article in the last book he looked through.

"Holy shit," Harry muttered as he read the entry in _Mysterious Magical Predators of the Amazon_. He didn't think he would find what he was looking for in it, but Luna told him there was at least one useful entry in it as she passed him on her way to a table with a tome labeled _Magical Predators of Northern Europe_ tucked under her arm.

"Did you find something?" Ron asked from across the table. There was a disbelieving tone in his voice, though Harry didn't blame him, considering the title of the book.

"Yes, and no," Harry said. "Yes, I found something, but no, it's definitely not Matt's attacker."

Harry looked back down at his book. One page was mostly taken up with a picture depicting a massive black cat with glowing green eyes. Below the painting was a paragraph detailing the subject. It said...

_Wraith Panther: A wraith panther resembles a large jaguar with a pure, perfectly black coat. They are capable of absorbing all light in a one hundred yard radius, dropping the area into total darkness. However, their eyes glow when they do this. Most have eyes that are a solid green, though some have yellow eyes, and rare individuals have red eyes. Wraith panthers are capable of seeing in complete darkness. They are most commonly found in the Amazon, but can be found in almost every tropical rain forest. Their fur is highly coveted, as it can be used in any number of manners to create a wide variety of devices and/or substances to create total darkness, or the illusion thereof. Not particularly resistant to magic, but highly agile and able to sense magic sources nearby. Believed to feed on magical energies of the organisms they hunt, wraith panthers are one of the few known predators of humans. Usually when they attack a human, it is a witch or wizard; rarely do wraith panthers attack Muggles or squibs._

"That's fascinating, Harry, but what's so important about this particular animal?" Hermione said from behind his left shoulder.

"Nothing really," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I just reminded me of something I saw during Christmas last year."

Ron glanced between Harry and Hermione. "I think we're missing something here," he said, turning to where Luna sat with Lucy and Ginny.

Harry started to deny it, but thought better of it. "Not here," he murmured before standing and motioning for the others to follow him, taking the book with him.

When they reached the check out desk, Harry turned to make sure the others were following. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's probably still at the table," Lucy said.

"Go get her then. She's earned the right to hear this, since she _has_ been helping us these past two weeks," Harry replied. Lucy and Luna went off to retrieve her.

They returned with a furiously blushing Ginny Weasley. Harry then led the group to the corridor containing the portrait of Kelben "Blackstaff" Arundsen. After looking in both directions, he gave the password and ushered his five companions into the room; then looking in both directions once more, he entered it himself. He set the book on Blackstaff's desk.

"First," Harry began, "I need your oaths that you won't repeat any of what I'm about to tell you."

Ron, Lucy, Luna, and Ginny gave their oaths. "Over the summer, Matt and I began to study to become animagi. Matt succeeded fairly quickly, and apparently the press over here picked up on it," Harry said, looking pointedly at Luna. "We actually started over Christmas break last year by taking a potion that would reveal whether we could become animagi and what forms we would take."

"Which one did you take?" Lucy asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "Sirius never said what it was, just that it put us in a state similar to a Native American vision quest."

"I think I know which one that is. It's supposedly the only one safe to take if you're not sure if you have the ability to become an animagus," Lucy said. "If you don't it works like a fast acting laxative." Everyone stared at her. "What? When I read about the American kid who registered as an Animagus I decided I wanted to find out if I could be one too. Obviously, that's not going to happen any time soon."

"It would've been nice if they'd warned us of that particular side effect," Hermione remarked dryly.

"Oh, you know how they are, always a laugh those two," Harry responded flippantly as he thumbed through the book he'd brought from the library. "Anyway, the three of us, Matt, Hermione, and I, took the potion and learned our forms. I thought mine was a black panther, but then I saw the picture of the wraith panther, and it looks exactly like what I saw in the trance," he said as he pointed at the painting.

Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face, but Lucy was the first to speak up. "Well, it's not unheard of for animagi to take on magical forms, although it _is_ exceedingly rare."

A thought occurred to her. "Hang on a minute. Did you say Matt succeeded at his animagus transformation?" Harry nodded. "You also said that the press over here picked up on it?" Again Harry nodded. "So what form does he take?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Harry asked. All of those helping had been let in on the fact that Matt and Lucy could communicate mind to mind--but not that they were soul mates. They were led to believe that it was some sort of fluke.

"Would if he was awake. He loses consciousness a day or two at a time, and he just went out an hour and a half ago."

"I guess I can answer for him, then. His form is cougar," Harry said.

"A what?" Lucy asked.

"A mountain lion. It's a large species of cat native to North America," Harry explained.

"Oh."

"Hey, Harry, didn't your dad and Sirius say that shifting could cure anything as long as you can shift?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"Something like that, yeah," he replied slowly, thinking, _Where is she going with this?_ "But what good does that...ohhh, right."

He turned to Lucy. "Can you relay that to Chucky when he wakes?"

"Chucky?" Lucy asked.

"Matt. I meant Matt," Harry answered.

"Sure," she said.

"Wait," Ron said, "isn't Chucky a shortening of Charles?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry replied. "It's also the name of the murderous doll in the movie _Child's Play_."

Hermione spoke up. "Make sure you tell Matt that Harry called him that."

"Did someone dip your tampon in bubotuber pus?" Lucy asked, having heard the story of when Harry called Matt 'Gimli.'

"What?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.

"You seem intent on getting Harry injured. I'm not getting in the middle of that," Lucy said.

"But what is bubotuber pus?" Hermione asked.

"It's a liquid secreted by the bubotuber plant, if the raw form of it touches exposed skin, it causes very large, very painful boils," Lucy responded. Hermione winced and squeezed her legs together.

"How do you know so much about it?" Ron asked. "We don't study that until fourth year."

"The greenhouse at Malfoy Manor houses a few bubotuber plants," Lucy explained. "The pus is a valuable potion ingredient used in a potion that cures acne, as well as a few more..._nefarious_ applications."

There was an awkward silence, interrupted by the occasional squeak and the rustle of clothing as they shifted in their seats. "So, Hermione, what animal will you be able to change into?" Ron asked.

"A bald eagle," she replied.

"What good is a featherless bird?" Ron asked.

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed, not entirely sure if he was serious.

He was. "If it doesn't have feathers, it can't fly, Hermione," Ron said in a patient tone of voice, very similar to the tone of voice many teachers used to explain difficult concepts to slow students. "Birds don't walk very fast, you know."

Harry and Hermione both laughed at that. "Ron, the term bald eagle refers to a specific type of eagle, one with brown feathers covering its body, with a white head and white tail feathers," Hermione explained, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of her eye. "It's also heavily incorporated in the symbolism of the United States."

"Oh," The redheaded boy replied sheepishly.

"Anyway," Harry said, "we've looked through all the books on magical predators. Whatever got Matt and Colin probably isn't in any book in the library," Harry said. "I appreciate the help you gave us, Ginny," he added, turning to look at the girl.

Ginny mumbled something incoherent while turning an interesting shade of fuchsia, then scurried out of the room.

Harry pulled out a wind up pocket watch and looked at it. "We might as well get going," he said. "It's almost time for supper." Ron was up and moving for the door before Harry even finished his statement.

------

26 November 1992

At 6:02 a.m., the now familiar "Star Spangled Banner" played throughout the school, but there were no further serenades. Instead, when the student body roused themselves, they found every banner in the castle had been changed to a different flag. The Great Hall was adorned with no less than three American flags of varying design, including a fifteen stripe, fifteen star flag from the late eighteenth century, a white flag adorned with a coiled green snake and the words 'DON'T TREAD ON ME,' and a Confederate naval jack, the "Stars and Bars." Other flags included Brazil, Argentina, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, India, Australia, and Britain, among others. Whenever a flag was touched for the first time, the school was bombarded with the national anthem of the country the flag represented. A large and particularly mean male turkey roamed the entrance hall, and a large wizarding portrait of a group of dogs playing poker was hung on the wall behind the head table, using a particularly obscure sticking charm that required a specific counter to remove. The suits of armor stalked through the castle singing a song about gopher guts that Harry had learned at summer camp a few years ago.

A loud clattering issued from an unused classroom near the Great Hall. Within the classroom was a large group of capuchin monkeys banging away at typewriters, and a banner on one wall advertised that the monkeys were typing Shakespeare plays. If anyone had taken the time to look, all they would have seen was gibberish.

Shortly after Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down for breakfast, Professor Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, wearing small sunglasses with perfectly circular lenses, tie-died robes, and a white headband with a peace symbol on it. The headmaster's appearance lent the atmosphere of the castle--already rather bizarre, given the efforts of Harry and Hermione--a surreal, cubist atmosphere. _Matt would have enjoyed this,_ Harry thought. Matt was still laying in the hospital wing, having been unable to change. _At least Lucy will probably give him a good description._

"I must say, Harry, you have definitely outdone yourself," Fred laughed sitting down at the Gryffindor table, rubbing at a roughly beak-shaped welt on his left hand.

"We had nothing to do with Professor Dumbledore's wardrobe," Harry said, trying not to laugh as the headmaster turned his twinkling gaze towards Harry, giving him the peace sign, looking for all the world like an aging, burnt out hippie.

"Still, it's almost as good as the celebration of Ron being right," George said, referring to the time when he and Fred put on an amazing fireworks display, after which a banner behind the head table unfurled, proclaiming...

**Let it be known that on this, the eighth day of November in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-two,**

**Ronald Bilius Weasly was right about something!**

The next morning the wall behind where Ron had been sitting at during breakfast had a bronze plaque stuck to the wall with a permanent sticking charm. The plaque said...

**8 November 1992**

**On this spot Ronald Bilius Weasley was right about something.**

"I don't know," Harry began, "I thought the turkey was a bit much, but it'll be taken care of this morning while we're in class, and tonight we'll have the freshest roast turkey I've ever had."

"That is seriously morbid, Harry," Hermione said.

"No reason to waste it," Harry pointed out.

"So, Harry, what do you think the dueling club is gonna be like?" Ron asked as he shoveled third helpings of everything onto his plate.

"Dunno," Harry said. "Might be pretty good. I heard that Professor Flitwick was a dueling champion back in the late forties and early fifties."

"So Flitwick has been confirmed as the teacher in charge?" Ron queried, before yet again stuffing his face.

"No, he hasn't," said Harry, "but who else is gonna run it?"

"Perhaps Professor Lockhart will," Hermione suggested reasonably.

"And perhaps the U.S. Team will win the next World Cup," Harry countered dryly.

"When hell freezes over!" Dean exclaimed.

"My point exactly," Harry said.

------

Two days later, shortly after breakfast, Harry and the rest of the people who had signed up for the dueling club filed into the Great Hall. Their attention was first drawn to the portrait of the poker-playing dogs, where several of the human occupants of other portraits were currently halfway through a game of strip poker. A pair of women shrieked and scurried out of the painting, desperately covering themselves up. The dealer--a drunken monk--scowled blearily at the assembled students before handing the deck of cards to the St. Bernard with the sun visor. The rest of the players gathered their clothes and filed out at a slower pace.

The next thing the students noticed was the dueling platform in the center of the room.

Harry took one look at the flamboyantly dressed figure standing in front of the platform and muttered, "You gotta be fucking kidding me!"

"Looks like hell just froze over," Ron added.

"The U.S. Team still won't win the World Cup," Dean said from behind Harry.

"Welcome, welcome..." Harry immediately tuned out the vapid babbling of Gilderoy Lockhart, the airhead pseudo-professor. While subsequent lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts had been less disastrous than the first lesson--where he had let loose no fewer than three clans of Cornish Pixies loose in the classroom, causing a swarm war that wrecked almost an entire wing on the third floor of the castle which was only stopped by Harry and Matt's quick thinking in going to find Professor McGonagall--they had also gotten far more boring and useless every week.

Harry was shaken from his reverie when the very same inept professor he was thinking about came hurtling backwards in his direction. "Mornin', Professor," he quipped as he sidestepped the airborne narcissist. "What happened," he asked Hermione, whom he was now standing behind.

"Professor Snape hit him with a disarming charm," she replied.

"Are you sure? I didn't think they caused knockback," he countered.

"Normally they don't," she agreed. "However, the disarming charm is unusual in that its effects are sensitive to certain emotions, namely hatred and loathing. No one knows why."

Harry was about to reply when he heard Professor Snape call out, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, please come forward."

"What for?" Harry asked.

"Tsk, tsk. Don't you ever pay attention, Mr. Potter?" the greasy hared potions master asked with a sneer. "Ten points from Gryffindor for wasting our time."

"As for why you've been called upon," the ever bubbly blonde bimbo boy began, never once covering his teeth, "you and Mr. Malfoy will demonstrate the disarming charm to the rest of the club."

While Harry half listened to 'Professor' Lockhart explain how _not_ to parry the disarming charm--Harry was fairly certain that dropping one's wand defeated the purpose--he pondered how Professor Snape--who was now whispering something in Draco's ear--managed to keep his greasy, unwashed hair from turning to dreadlocks.

"Bow to your opponents," Professor Lockhart instructed.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy asked, bowing

"Of you? That's rich!" chuckled Harry as he straightened.

"Now, on the count of three you will cast your charms at each other," Lockhart announced.

"Disarm only," Snape bit out, looking directly at Harry.

"One," Lockhart said. Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"Two." Harry took a deep breath, bending his knees, ready to dodge.

"Thr--" Malfoy struck.

"_Serpensortia_!" he cried. A thick, black snake erupted from his wand.

"Don't move, Potter!" Professor Snape said, striding carefully towards him.

"Allow me," Lockhart interjected cheerfully as he cast a banishing charm on the snake...sending it right to the feet of Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggleborn student from Hufflepuff, who, like Harry, was a second year.

The snake--which had been irritated as it was--became enraged. Before Harry could think about the consequences, he shouted "Back off!"

Only it didn't come out as "Back off!" Rather, it came out a stream of hisses and fricatives, seemingly unpronounceable by the human mouth. Every student in the room stared at him.

Justin took a second to process what had just happened, and after Ernie MacMillan whispered something in his ear, sprinted out of the Great Hall.

"BOO!" Harry shouted, leaping from the stage into the crowd, whereupon he was immediately grabbed by Ron and Hermione who led him from the room.

As they reached a deserted part of the castle, Ron spoke up. "Harry, mate, why didn't you tell us you're a parselmouth?"

"How would you have reacted?" asked Harry. "Would you have shrugged it off, or would you have turned me in to the Aurors?"

The red-haired boy was silent, though he turned a faint pink.

"I though so. That's why I didn't tell anyone, too many closed-minded fools that think that having a certain talent makes you the 'Prince of Darkness.' It's almost as bad as the fundamentalist Christians in America that equate Bon Jovi and Def Leppard with the devil." He paused. "Actually, Jon Bon Jovi _is_ the devil, come to think of it." He shook his head. "You wear a Metallica concert t-shirt to school _one_ time, and suddenly the nuns are trying to exorcise the demons from you," he muttered. Hermione laughed, apparently remembering the more detailed description of events she'd received during her first visit after the incident, almost five years ago.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked, returning to the here and now. "Oh, that. I attended the local Catholic school for first grade and about a month of second. The reason I was pulled out was that the nuns tried to exorcise me when I wore a shirt emblazoned with the logo of a heavy metal band. There wasn't even any actual satanic imagery on it!" Harry exclaimed. "The worse part was that they had me halfway to the Jesuit university in St. Louis--where the exorcism that inspired the movie, _The Exorcist_, took place--before anyone contacted my parents," he said bitterly. "But that's neither here nor there. The point is there are closed-minded jackasses everywhere--no offense, Ron."

"Uh...none taken?" Ron answered, seemingly unsure what was going on.

"The point is that it's not anyone's business if I can talk to snakes," Harry said. "At least it _wasn't_, anyway," he added glumly. "So what are the odds that everyone thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Probably pretty high," Ron said. "Are you?"

"No," said Harry. "The Potter's can trace their lineage back well past the time of the Founders, and as near as we can tell, there's no one of any real importance in the Potter family tree until around the time of the Renaissance." He paused, thinking. "There was a branch of the Potter family that did intermarry with the Slytherin line, but the last member of that group died in the late seventies. There are currently three distinct branches of the Potter line left in existence--the Prewitts, the Notts, and an Australian line by the name of Porter."

"My mum was a Prewitt," Ron said.

"Really?" Harry asked. Ron nodded. "Both the Prewitts and the Notts branched off over a century before the Founders, and are considered separate entities from the Potter line in most situations. The Porter branch began as a misspelling on a birth certificate shortly after Australia earned its independence." He paused. "One of the more interesting relationships my dad pointed out was the Malfoys," Ron looked disgusted and Hermione was surprised. "The original Malfoy was expelled from the family around the time of the founders for bringing extreme dishonor to the family, and was given the name Malfoy by the head of the house of Potter. Within five generations, they began seeing it as a badge of honor."

"You're kidding!" Ron exclaimed.

"You have no idea how much I wish I were," answered Harry.

------

As Harry had anticipated, most of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. The Slytherins seemed to be divided on their opinions of him. Most thought it was preposterous that he was the Heir, a few thought that he was the Heir, but was a disgrace to the name, and the rest--really just a pair of seventh years--held grudging respect for him, believing him to have somehow tricked the Sorting Hat into putting him into Gryffindor to deflect suspicion that he was, in fact, the Heir of their house's namesake and worthy of their respect and admiration. This last group was the most annoying.

Gryffindor, however, thought the whole thing was either preposterous, or hilarious. The Weasley twins fell into the latter group, mocking the idea that he was the Heir of Slytherin, every time they crossed paths in the castle--usually by walking ahead of him, announcing the approach of a 'seriously dark wizard.' Harry usually thought these antics were pretty funny--except for the time they turned his hat into a clown wig, which he was unable to remove for the entire day.

Shortly before the Christmas break it occurred to Harry to ask Lucy something important. He and Hermione pulled her out of the Gryffindor common room to Blackstaff's study.

"So what did you want to know?" Lucy asked.

"I was wondering," Harry began, "are the Malfoys descended from Slytherin?"

"No, not that I know of," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I just remembered what your br--I mean Malfoy, said after what happened to Matt," he answered. "It seemed to be a logical conclusion." He sighed. "Oh, well. It was a thought, anyway."

"So are you spending Christmas with Sirius and his wife?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," she replied, a trace of apprehension creeping into her manner.

"You'll be fine," Harry told her,picking up on her uneasiness.

"But what if he changes his mind and decides he doesn't want me?" she asked.

"He won't. He doesn't give up easily. He once cut down an oak tree with a claw hammer just to prove that he could--though it took him three days of working at it about five hours a day," Harry said. Lucy's eyes bugged out. "Granted, it was only about eight or nine inches across, but that still shows dedication."

"Why would he do that?" Lucy asked.

"I can't quite remember," Harry said, scratching his chin. "That was seven years ago."

"I think it was on a bet," Hermione said.

"Oh yeah, now I remember."

"So what was the bet?"

"Matt's dad was collecting wood for his fireplace, while Sirius and my dad helped. Sirius asked Matt's dad why he didn't just let him and my dad do it all by magic," Harry said. "Theon replied that using magic was the lazy way, that it caused the body to waste away. Sirius then bet him twenty dollars that he could cut down any tree in the woods with any tool. So Matt's dad said, 'You're on,' and handed him a claw hammer--which he'd been using to drive wedges through the bigger chunks to split them--and pointed to a small oak tree and told him to get started."

"So how much is twenty dollars?" Lucy asked.

"At the time, it was just over four Galleons."

She just shook her head.

------

A/N: So thus ends another chapter. First things first, I used a one to one dollar to pound conversion because I didn't know the exact exchange rate from 1985.

I defend any inconsistencies with canon under the 'Butterfly Effect,' as illustrated in that old Simpson's Halloween episode where Homer turns the toaster into a time machine.

That just leaves one more thing to add:

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll try to get back to you.


	17. History Lessons

Disclaimer: That deaf, dumb, and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball. But I don't own the setting or any of the characters featured in the books. I do own Matt, Lucy, and the gremlin on the wing of the plane. _His_ name is Jub Jub.

**Chapter 17: History Lessons**

The train back to London was just as crowded as the train to school. No one was staying in the castle over Christmas. Harry was feeling better than he had in a while. He glanced over at Hermione, who was sitting in the seat across from him, and was momentarily startled when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. As soon as the surprise registered in his mind, he felt bad for being surprised. _Matt _is_ her cousin, after all. Blood is thicker than water and all that jazz._

"Something wrong?" Harry asked, causing her to jump. They were alone in the compartment. Luna was with Ginny, Lucy, and a couple other girls in the compartment across the hall, and Ron was with the other second year Gryffindor boys.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"I asked you if something was wrong," he answered.

"N-no," Hermione responded unconvincingly.

"Right...and I'm the Easter bunny."

She sighed. "It's just that after Matt...," she paused. "I mean _one_ of us had to stay strong, and you weren't even trying," she accused him as she began to sob.

He got up and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders in what was meant to be a comforting manner and making soft shushing sounds like his mother used to when he was upset. "I'm sorry," he said softly, not sure if it would help or not, as she buried her face into his shoulder. His other arm wound its way around her almost automatically.

They stayed that way for almost half an hour, until the snack cart came by. When they sat back down Harry put his left arm around her shoulders.

Finally, they untangled themselves, just as they reached the farthest outskirts of London. "Sorry about that," she said. "It's just--"

"You don't have to apologize. As you said, one of us has to stay strong," he said. "Now it's my turn to be strong, and your turn to break down."

They both went to use the restroom one last time before they got to King's Cross. As they pulled into the station Harry realized when they returned to their compartment, they had once again sat next to each other, his arm around her shoulders. In the back of his mind Harry knew that their relationship had changed forever.

He just wished he knew if it was for the better or not.

------

James Potter stood on Platform 9 3/4, waiting for his son and the niece of one of his best friends. _Mustn't forget Lucy_, he told himself, remembering the girl that Sirius had decided to take in. He had in his left hand a sock monkey. Finally he heard the whistle, and moments later he could make out the crimson form of the Hogwarts Express.

Fifteen minutes later Harry, and Hermione exited the train with their trunks. Behind them was a pale girl with platinum blonde hair. But he didn't really notice that much about her as his eyes were drawn to the linked hands of Harry and Hermione. He grinned inwardly. They released each other's hands as they approached.

"Dad, this is Lucy," Harry said, motioning the blonde girl forward.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," she said timidly.

"Likewise," James responded as he waved his old wand, shrinking the three trunks. "We're traveling by portkey," he added, holding out the sock monkey. "You just need to touch it," he added to Hermione.

Harry groaned and pocketed his trunk. Hermione and Lucy did likewise--without the groaning--and touched the plush toy. "Do we have to?" he asked, voice filled with trepidation.

"No, you don't _have_ to," James said. Harry relaxed. "If you don't want to take the portkey I can side-along you back to Hogsmeade and you can spend Christmas at Hogwarts," he suggested.

"I don't want to spend Christmas alone in the castle with just the staff," Harry whined.

"Then grab the portkey so we can get out of here," James ground out.

"You know how much I hate portkeys!" Harry exclaimed.

"Shut up and touch the monkey!" James snapped.

"Fine," Harry muttered, touching the gray and white stuffed animal with his finger. "But when I break my nose, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Such a drama queen," Hermione whispered to Lucy as James tapped the monkey with his wand and the train platform disappeared in a swirl of color.

When the group came to a stop, both Harry and Hermione landed flat on their backs. James heard Sirius give a bark of laughter from somewhere to his left.

"I think I'm with Harry on this one," Hermione said, looking a bit green--not to mention reluctant to stand. "That was horrible."

"It's an acquired taste," said a female voice from the direction of the kitchen. The voice had a strong twang; the owner of the voice was obviously from the southern United States.

James looked over to the woman. She was tall, lithely muscular, with dark eyes, dark hair, and a deep tan, her features somewhere between plain and striking. Cynthia Black was an imposing figure, as befitting a professional Quidditch player--one of less than one hundred female Beaters in the world; she played for the Missouri Leviathans, based in Imperial, Missouri.

"So this is the kid you've decided we're taking in," Cynthia said, giving Lucy an appraising look, from which the girl appeared to shrink.

"Don't scare the poor girl, Cyn," Sirius scoffed. "You know as well as I do you wanted to adopt her sight unseen." He shook his head. "Why I married such a mean shrew I'll never figure out," he muttered, the barest hint of a smile tracing his lips.

"In case you've forgotten, I wasn't always this way," she replied, smacking her husband upside the head. "I'm pretty sure it comes from trying to keep you two chuckleheads out of trouble. Though, of course, when you throw Theon into the mix, all you can do is give the National Guard the heads up."

"Hey!" came a familiar voice from the doorway. "I resemble that remark!" Theon Robertson exclaimed mock indignantly, throwing the room a grin--though it didn't reach his eyes. His wife didn't even try to smile. Hermione disengaged herself from her parents, who had arrived that morning, and gave her aunt and uncle each a hug.

James watched as his son walked over to his godmother and her husband. "I'm sorry about what happened to Matt," he said. "I should have stopped him, and--"

"Nonsense," Theon cut him off. "There was no way to know what was going to happen. In the words of a wise man, 'Always in motion, the future is,'" he finished, grinning weakly. "Your parents and Dumbledore both explained to us that he's in no danger to his life."

"I still don't understand why you can't just get some mandr-mandra-mandarins--or mandrivas, or whatever the hell their called--from a supplier of some sort," Jenny said, voice cracking.

"Their called man_drakes_, Aunt Jenny," Hermione corrected. "And they have to be freshly...harvested...for the potion to work."

"Oh," was all she said. James caught Lily rolling her eyes. She'd tried explaining the very same principle to Jenny several times over the past month and a half, and gotten nowhere, and Hermione shows up, says the exact same thing, and she accepted the explanation immediately.

"Anyway, on to more cheerful news," Sirius said into the heavy silence.

"Oh, like what?" Hermione asked, turning to him and arching her eyebrow. James struggled to contain the laughter as remembered all the times Lily had done the exact same thing, tone of voice and all. _Maybe Freud was right_, he thought, remembering the way Harry and Hermione had been holding hands as they exited the train.

"Like the fact that Cyn has been selected as a member of team U.S.A. for the upcoming Quidditch world cup," Sirius beamed.

"Congratulations!" Harry exclaimed. "That makes you the first female Beater to play at the international level in at least a millennium!"

"Actually," Cynthia corrected, "I'll be the first _ever_. But that's only because of the top ten Beaters in the nation, five are banned from international play, and the other three turned down the offer, leaving just me and Jason Butkis, the bookends on that list."

"Still, you _are_ on the team, even if you weren't the first choice," Sirius reminded her, for what was, according to James's count, the fifteenth time in the past three weeks--and he'd only seen them six times in those three weeks.

------

Two days later, Harry and James were puttering around in their small garage. Most of the floor space was currently occupied by the Potters' 1987 Ford Thunderbird, and a significant portion of the remaining area was covered in boxes of various sorts.

"So, Dad, I was wondering," Harry began, and then paused.

"Wondering what?" James asked absent-mindedly as he searched through his toolbox for a nine-sixteenths open/box wrench.

"You wouldn't by any chance have any idea what's behind the attacks at school, would you?"

"Son, if I did, I would have notified the Headmaster. Ah, here it is," James said, standing up, wrench in hand. "Excuse me," he said as he squeezed between the car and Harry.

Harry shuffled backwards, but was stopped suddenly by a second toolbox. Unfortunately, his upper body did not stop. "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he lost his balance. Time seemed to dilate, and instead of coming to a stop against the locker he had thought was behind him, he felt only empty air. As his head and shoulders landed on the cold, hard concrete of the floor, he realized he had fallen into the gap between the two lockers. As his feet came off the ground and his toes struck the wall, leaving him effectively upside down, he heard his dad ask, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm just peachy, Dad," Harry replied. "I just thought I might try to do a handstand...without using my hands," he added nonchalantly. "Just practicing, mind you. I didn't want my last words to be 'Hey y'all! Watch this!' I'd never live it down if they were," he finished dryly.

James looked around the hood of the car and ducked back behind it, raising a grease-caked hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. He wasn't very successful.

"It's not funny, Dad," he protested, trying to get back up. The only problem was that the lockers were so close together he couldn't get his arms in a position to push or pull himself up.

"You're right, Harry," he managed to choke out through the laughter, "it's not funny--it's hilarious!" He then let loose another gale of laughter.

"When you're done yukking it up, old man," Harry said, "I could use some help over here."

"Just for that 'old man' comment, I think I'll leave you there while I finish tightening up this belt," James said, giving the wrench one last turn before making his way over to his toolbox and returning the wrench to the proper drawer. He then walked back to where Harry was trapped and held out his hand, which Harry gladly accepted.

As Harry stood up, he felt the blood drain back to his extremities. "One more question, Dad," Harry said, groaning from the sensation of light-headedness. "Have you ever heard of a wraith panther?"

"Yes, I've heard of them," James said, "and no, there is not one hiding in your closet or under your bed."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"What?" asked James.

"What was that about wraith panthers in my closet?"

"Wasn't that what you were going to ask me about?" James asked, confusion written on his face.

"No," Harry answered, "what gave you that idea?"

"Well..." his dad began, "Never mind that. What did you want to know about them?"

"Mainly I wanted to know if it's possible that my animagus form is a wraith panther."

"It's _possible_, but it's rare for an animagus to take on the form of a magical creature," James said. "But it's not unheard of, if that's what you were asking. As far as we've been able to figure out, Sirius's form really_ is_ a Grim, but he has no magical qualities as far as we can tell, not that we've explored his forms abilities and special properties too much, mind you."

"So why did you immediately assume that I was going to ask if there was a wraith panther in my closet?" Harry asked.

"Erm...funny story, really. Sirius once convinced me that I had a wraith panther living in my closet," James said. "He even set up an illusion so that every time I opened it I would see glowing green eyes and the rest of the closet was filled with shadow. I refused to go anywhere near my room for almost a month, and then I only went in to pack for Hogwarts."

"So that's it?" Harry asked, not sure whether he believed that Sirius would stop a joke there or not.

"Er, no. When we got to school, Sirius applied another illusion to the space under my bed, only this one growled whenever anyone came near the bed. When I would go to get the Care of Magical Creatures Professor to take care of it, Sirius would remove the illusion before the professor entered the room, and reapply it after he left. This went on for over a week, until one day I managed to find Professor Kettleburn and barely managed to convince him to take one last look. He figured out it was an illusion almost immediately," James said. "The entire sixth year boys' dorm served detention for a month after that."

"So how'dja get back at him?" Harry asked.

"I'm offended that you think so low of me as to assume that I would commit an act of vengeance on my best mate!" James half-shouted in mock indignation. Harry just stared at him expectantly.

James leaned in conspiratorially. "The five of us hit him with laxative charms--both normal ones and gaseous ones--every time he tried to chat up a girl. I even got him with a _flattus maximus_ in Arithmancy when he had to get up in front of the whole class and solve an equation on the blackboard. Remind me to show you and Matt the memory this summer."

Harry was laughing so hard he forgot to be sad about his friend's misfortune.

------

Meanwhile one hundred thirty miles away, in St. Louis, Lucilla Porcia Black--formerly Malfoy--was lying in bed, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Two days previously she had been shown to her new bedroom. Sirius had made some joke about having to give up his 'naked room' to accommodate her, but she had barely registered it. The moment she entered the room, it had hit her. She was no longer a Malfoy. Sure, she had disliked most of her family--but they had been her family, nonetheless.

The first day Sirius and Cynthia had tried to get her to leave her room and join in on some family activities. Lucy vaguely remembered having done so, though only half-heartedly. Yesterday, she had stayed in her room all day, even when they had tried to get her to come out. Today they hadn't even tried.

_I wonder if proximity to Matt had somehow put off the depression, had prevented the facts from sinking in_, she thought for what seemed like the hundredth time that day--though in reality it was only the third. The occasional thought of Matt would inspire her to get up out of bed in search of food, but that was the only reaction she had to those thoughts. Ever since she found out that he was her soul mate she had expected thoughts of Matt to inspire feelings of...of...she wasn't sure what, but she would know it when it happened.

She was shaken from this train of thought by a knock on her bedroom door. "We're going to a Blues' game," Cynthia Black called through the door. "We've got a third ticket if you want to come along," she continued. "If you don't want to go, we'll drop you off at the Potter's. Lily said she'd watch you for us."

Lucy considered it for a few seconds. Though she had no idea what sport the Blues' played, Cynthia had made it sound as if it was something interesting. Lucy wasn't really a fan of sport, and fervently hoped it wasn't this "football" Matt had gone on and on about. _On the other hand_, Lucy thought, _it might just cheer me up for a little while._

"Okay," Lucy said. "When are we leaving?"

Cynthia looked at her watch. "It's half past two now, and the game is at seven, so we'll be leaving in two hours."

"Why so soon?" Lucy asked.

"Well, first we're stopping for supper at White Castle, then we're taking the Metrolink from Forest Park to the Kiel Center."

"Why can't we apparate there, instead?"

"Because, by law, every sports arena has to have a magic suppression ward that prevents active use of magicks within a mile radius," Cynthia explained. "Which is beside the fact that Apparation in a downtown area is misdemeanor offense punishable by thirty days in prison. If you're seen by a _nichtmagisch_ it becomes a felony, and is punishable by up to six months in prison and three years of trace."

"What's a _nichtma_--"

"_Nichtmagisch_ is the common term over here for nonmagical people."

"Oh, you mean Muggles."

"Yeah, something like that, except that the term _nichtmagisch_ is not a derogatory term. The word 'Muggle' is considered a swear word in the U.S., and as such is never used in polite company--that's your only warning, by the way."

Lucy gulped. "So what is this 'trace' you mentioned?"

"It's a punishment similar to probation, where the one being punished is required to wear a pair of disillusioned thumb rings--one on each hand--that measure the wearer's magical activity and track their movements. At the first sign of wrongdoing the rings will portkey the individual wearing them to the nearest magical law enforcement post. Any unauthorized attempt to remove them results in a nasty shock."

"That's certainly different from Britain's Trace," Lucy commented.

"Not even in the same category, Lucy," responded Cynthia. "The Trace is both more complicated and much simpler than that. For one, it is really a network of wards that detect magic usage of any kind," Cynthia explained. "The Trace, in theory, was designed to differentiate between mature and immature magical signatures. Works well on paper. Unfortunately, magical signatures have been known reach maturity anywhere between the ages 12 and 35."

Lucy's eyes bugged out. "But then tha--"

Cynthia cut her off. "You see the conundrum there. When the Trace was first implemented in the late 1600s, there were several instances of well-respected adult members of the community being brought up on charges of underage magic. This--combined with the occasional instance where a mediocre witch or wizard from a nonmagical family would come back to school and suddenly be outshining the scions of several prominent pureblood families--was deemed unacceptable.

"So, twenty seven years after it was implemented, the Trace was deactivated and modified so that it did not differentiate between mature and immature magical signatures. In the four months that the Trace was down, a census taken of all established magical households, as well as a census of all students at Hogwarts born of nonmagical parents. The ability to differentiate accidental magic from intentional magic was an afterthought, added at the last minute.

"When the Trace was reactivated, it merely pinpointed magic use and the location of a magical signature. The information was then fed into a magically updating book noting the spell or effect produced and the precise coordinates. Those were then cross-referenced with the census of magical households. If the coordinates were not within a certain radius of a magical household, a second cross reference was made, this time against a list of nonmagical households with at least one child attending Hogwarts or another school of magic. If the source was found on in the second list, it was then referenced against yet another list to see if there were any prior offenses, and action was taken accordingly, depending on what was found in this list. The whole process was streamlined considerably when the Ministry of Magic came to power in 1879. One of the first things they did was design a book that did all of the steps all on its own."

"How do you know all this?" Lucy marveled.

"When I got my Master's Degree in Magical Law I wrote my thesis on methods of detecting underage magic. Magical Britain is one of the most behind-the-times magical cultures in the world. Of course, many nations say that the U.S. magical population is too open. The ICW nearly blew a collective gasket when the Department of Magical Concerns was established by Roosevelt."

"What's a gasket and why would it blow?" Lucy asked.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot for a second that you Brits don't have any regard for _nichtmagisch_ advances," Cynthia apologized. "A gasket is a flexible strip of material that allows metal surfaces to seal against one another. They are used extensively in automobile engines, and when one blows, it is never a good thing."

"Why did the ICW react that way?" asked Lucy, setting aside the confusing metaphor for the moment. "Doesn't the Department of Magical Concerns serve the same purpose as the Ministry of Magic?"

"The British Ministry is an independent agency that is known only to the British Prime Minister and the Royal Family. The USDMC is under the direct control of the President, and the Secretary of Magical Concerns sits on the Cabinet. Just like any other member of the Cabinet, the Secretary of Magical Concerns requires Senate approval. Those factors combined increase the chance of the world at large discovering the existence of magic--and all that use it--by several orders of magnitude."

"So why did they do it?" Lucy asked. "Why did they create a process that could lead to the Mug--I mean, _ni_--nonmagical people finding out about us?"

"First, they didn't create the process. The process of appointing cabinet members was already there. They only added another position to fill," Cynthia began. "Second, it was Roosevelt--not the wizards of the day--that created this position. It was a move to consolidate power near the end of the World War Two. He dissolved the Council of Continental Magical Concerns--the longest reigning Wizarding government at the time--and replaced it with the USDMC," Cynthia glanced at her watch. "My how time flies when your having fun boring someone out their mind. You have an hour to get ready before we need to leave."

She started to leave the room but paused when she reached the door and turned back. "Do you have any normal clothes? As in something that's not robes?"

"No," Lucy replied. Her family had never gone into the Mug--_nichtmagisch_ world. The closest thing she had to mundane clothing was a set of formal robes that vaguely resembled a dress that was in fashion during the reign of Queen Victoria.

"Well, I'll transfigure something for tonight, and before you head back to Hogwarts the two of us will go clothes shopping," Cynthia said, a peculiar glint in her eye. "You look like you could use new _everything_, from the look of it," she added cryptically, a touch of humor in her voice.

_I think I'm going to like it here_, Lucy thought as she gathered her things and began to get ready for a night out. She was surprised when she realized she meant it.

_At least it'll be closer to Matt when he recovers_, she thought, not even noticing the faint spark of emotion the thought triggered.

------

A/N: To start, I feel hatred oncoming about saying that the "Council of Continental Magical Concerns" was, at the time of its dissolution, the longest reigning magical government. The name is meant to imply that it was spawned sometime around, say, August 1776. This would put its inception during the Age of Enlightenment. Consider that the U.S. Constitution was officially ratified in 1791 and, despite a certain recent president and vice president using it as toilet paper, has endured better than most. I _do not_ intend to insinuate the U.S. is better than any other country.

As for FDR making a move to consolidate power, I believe he would have been very capable of making that move. This is the president that wanted to appoint six _extra_ justices to the Supreme Court, we're talking about.

Much of Lucy's internal monologue is in response to a couple of reviews I receive complaining about how Matt and Lucy didn't seem all that close. That's because the whole soul bond thing WAS A FLUKE. They've barely known each other for three and a half months. Being soul mates does not automatically mean love.

I dunno. Maybe I'm just being cynical.

Bonus, behind the scenes factoid: the phrase Flattus Maximus first entered my consciousness when I looked up the band GWAR on the Internet. Flattus Maximus is, I believe, the name the character that plays bass in GWAR.

Questions? Comments? Plotholes? Just type them up in a review and I'll get back to you. Or maybe I might not. Heck, maybe I'm not even posting this on the Internet in real life, but instead in an intricately crafted fantasy world where I am butt of the joke that is life. *shrugs* Stranger things _have_ been known to happen.


End file.
